Epoch
by kimsvy
Summary: Summer 1998: The world lays in chaos after the death of Harry Potter and victory of Voldemort. The resistance, what remains of it, searches for any solution to the Voldemort menace, and a young Johanna McDonnel volunteers to sacrifice herself. Jo slips through the cracks of time, back to the epoch of the 1940s and a world gripped by a much different war. And thus two fates cross.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I am EXTREMELY excited to finally unveil this story. It's my finest work yet, and I can guarantee that you are really going to enjoy it, especially once you really start getting into it (Chapters 1-3 are all exposition, but once you get past that, the story really starts to pick up).**

 **I'll give you the background: Voldemort won, Harry died, and the entire wizarding community is suffering. Voldemort's war spreads out of Europe and into the rest of the world, his supporters multiplying and with it the damages. The line dividing the magical and muggle world starts to blur as muggles are slaughtered by the thousands by the death eaters. Everything is falling apart. The resistance, what remains of it, is struggling for any solution to the Voldemort menace, and a young woman named Johanna McDonnel volunteers to sacrifice herself. The war has cost her a great deal and she feels as though she has nothing left to lose. The idea here is that she'll be sent back to Hogwarts during the 1940s and do whatever it takes to eliminate Riddle there. Things don't exactly go as planned though...**

 **Now I know realistically that time travel in such a dramatic form isn't possible or at least hasn't been exhibited safely in the Harry Potter universe, but I'm taking creative license here. It's _magic_ people; anything is possible! This fic is going to explore a variety of themes as well as delve into the scientific side of magic as seen in Harry Potter (which, being the huge nerd that I am, I couldn't just avoid). A lot of the fic will take place in the 1940s, but that's not to say that we won't see our favorite golden trio (hint hint we will). I have to deal with the consequences of time travel, paradoxes, and altering the fabric of the very universe, now don't I?**

 **I've had more fun writing this fic than I probably should've; Johanna is, by far, one of my favorite characters I've ever written - she definitely seems more _human_ and realistic than many others. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.**

 **As always, read and review! Enjoy you lovely Potterheads!**

* * *

I remember the sky first.

Gray.

Not a dead gray, but a deep one. Tainted by underwhelming blues and purples. Highlighted by white veins, pumping rain throughout the heart of the sky. Occasionally, there'd be a low growl, rumbling ominously from above.

Next a book.

Small and bonny blue, like Aurora's eyes. With soft corners and smooth edges like Aurora herself.

She was talking all about it, her hands waving about the way they always did whenever she was excited. Aurora, my precious Rory, always stood tiptoe, too. Slightly suspended on the balls of her feet, her arms floating at her sides. She looked like a bird—a small one—ready to take flight at the first sign of danger.

I'd taken her out that day. She'd never been before, never fought in one of the battles, and I thought the setting would be perfect for her first time. She'd begged and begged and begged for me to take her. "But Jo, I'm tough," She'd blurted. "I want to help, and before you argue, I can take care of myself. I'm not your baby sister anymore." She was right. She wasn't.

But I should've known… should've realized. They warned me about different, darker spells. Death Eaters more powerful than anything I'd ever known. But I never listened. Because I was invincible. Such things didn't apply to me.

And then suddenly they did. Suddenly I wasn't invincible anymore and suddenly Rory, darling Rory was dying and it was because of me…

I swallowed. Hard. My throat bobbed angrily up and down as I did so. _Focus_ , I told myself, and I did. The sound of footsteps brought me back to earth—my footsteps. It was me who stormed down the marble corridor in a flutter of nerves. It was my pulse that skyrocketed with each step I took. Again, I swallowed. _Perhaps I'll have a heart attack_ , I thought. _Maybe today it'll end – a simple jolt, the squeeze of cardiac arrest._

The stone surrounding me cackled at the thought. I released another puff of air and carried on.

There was a certain briskness about me—an urgency, if you will. Part of it came from panic, the knowledge of what I was preparing to do. Part of it came from hope, knowing what would result from my actions. And part of it came from fear, the fear of being stopped. There was no way I would allow that. I'd come too far.

What I was doing. Why I was doing it. Thoughts of both danced in my head, making me dizzy. I tightened my jaw and raised my chin. One. Two. Three steps. The marble floors the hallway jeered in laughter. Four. Five. Six steps. I was taunted as I plunged deep, deeper into the depths. Something gnawed at my stomach, but I let it go – deep breaths. I was baptized in the quiet, and numbness filled me. Every other emotion left, every trace of fear, every sliver of vengeance and self-righteousness so that all I was left with was a hollow hole, riddled with the pungent perfume of anxiety.

I turned a sharp right; my cloak billowing around me as I headed east down another dismal corridor. In another time, this place might have been grand – marvelous even. With its dazzling marble walls and labyrinthine structure. But now it had lost its original glamour. The once startlingly white color had become a desolate grey, the intricate tapestries had faded, and even the astonishing, ineffably beautiful carvings that littered the premises had crumbled over time.

My musing was interrupted, however, by the overbearing presence of a door. It glared at me from the end of the corridor. I gripped the handle and flung it open. What met me was not a surprise. Sloping ceiling. Gothic furniture. A woman. Who she was wasn't important. It was what she did that was of value. All of us – we were only the sum of our actions.

"I'm surprised you were on time," The woman remarked. The door snapped shut behind me. "The others took their time to linger."

My face was stoic as I responded, "If I took the time to linger I would've changed my mind and run."

She scoffed. "Right. Of course you would've," and upon carefully observing me she added, "If that's the case are you sure you're up for this? This isn't something that-"

"I'm certain," I replied, my voice distant, and I held her soft gaze with a tumultuous one of my own. "I've got this once chance to make things right again, for all of them, for her in particular. Let me take it."

Her tone was soft when she spoke, "Johanna, this isn't your responsibility-"

"I have to do this," I said. "When Harry died it became everyone's responsibility. We all do what we have to do to fight this war, and this is what I have to do." I cleared my throat. "I'll do whatever it takes to save them."

"Right then, did you bring what I asked for?" She inquired, her motherly voice taking on a soldier like urgent tone. It was clear that she'd done this before.

I nodded, placed a hand into my pocket, and withdrew a small bag. She snatched it up, her long, thin fingers working nimbly to untie the string around it. The bag opened and she extracted an even smaller pouch that held several small stones I had gathered from a nearby river, an empty vial, and a pocket watch. With a dramatic pause she set these three items on the desk in front of her and rose from her position, turning behind her to a series of cabinets and pulling out a small cauldron, a vial filled with a murky teal substance, and a piece of white chalk, the latter of which she thrust into my hand. "Get to work on drawing out the magic circle and setting up the stones. I need to finish the incantation and fill the other vial."

I set to work, drawing an intricate array of lines across the icy floor of the office. By the time I had finished, the bone-chilling cold of the stone floor had seeped deep into me, and I could feel it, along with my anxiety, beginning to cascade into one foreboding feeling of dread.

I bit back the feeling, although it was still gnawing away at me from inside, and set up the stones, each at a point of the rune circle and each with a separate rune carved into their surface. She was busying herself, her eyes closed as she whispered to an object in her hands. The pocket watch.

With a soft hissing sound, she stopped speaking, the watch in her hand glowing a faint purplish color as her eyes flashed open.

"Alright." She hesitated a moment, her eyes flickering over me before she spoke again. "This is your last chance. If you don't stop now there's no going back."

I let a derisive _tsk_ escape my mouth before I responded. "Good."

"We have two minutes and thirty-seven seconds." She announced, and suddenly the watch was tossed across the room. I darted out an arm and snatched it from the air. She hesitated a moment, her eyes flickering over me before she spoke again. "Do you remember the story?"

"Of course. I arrived from Beauxbatons via Portkey," I lifted the watch in my hand, "however my papers were unable to be transferred ahead of me because of Grindelwald's and the German's current occupation of France. I am transferring because conditions at Beauxbatons were unsavory, and Hogwarts doesn't have the same threat of dark wizards or bombs."

"Good, good. And remember to think about where and most importantly when you want to end up." She went on. "We wouldn't want you winding up in Ireland three weeks in the wrong direction. The magic circle provides some protection, but Merlin knows that you're the one who-"

"I know, Andromeda!" I blurted, causing her to purse her lips.

She paused, and I thought she was going to say some words of comfort. Instead, she pressed a vial into my hands. "Drink up."

I was thankful for the lack of sentimentality.

I obeyed and removed the stopper, dumping the vile contents into my mouth. It tasted, smelt, and felt repugnant, like thick, hot, mottled blood. The substance stuck to my throat like mucus, and I almost gagged.

My body began to relax as the potion took its effect in, and the woman across from me took the vial and replaced it with a dagger and a clean vial – the one I had brought. Her eyebrows were raised in expectation. I gritted my teeth and pulled the blade across my palm. A stream of scarlet greeted me, and I opened my hand. Droplets of blood fell onto the edge of the magic circle. Onto the pocket watch. Into the empty vial.

"Be safe my child."

Andromeda squeezed me in an unprecedented embrace and extracted the dagger and the vial from my hands.

"I will."

She ushered me into the center of the circle, and with a wave of her wand extinguished the many candles that lit the room. Stepping back, her chocolatey eyes landed on a pair of the enormous windows that surrounded us on all sides, her breath baited, waiting. I swallowed hard and felt the strap of the small satchel I'd brought digging into my shoulder.

The night pressed in all around us like a thick silken blanket, snuffing any whisper of light that dared appear. I could hardly see more than a few feet in front of me, only able to make out nefarious shadows that grinned madly at me from their various corners of the room. I had never been one to take Divination seriously, but even I could tell that it was a bad omen.

I squinted, trying desperately to see, but it was no use. The dark ebony that swam around me was thicker than blood that continued to drip from my hand.

And suddenly, just as I thought I could no longer stand the suffocating darkness that surrounded us, I was relieved. The moon began to rise, and the darkness around us fractured, dazzling beams of light splintering through our surroundings and casting magnificent patterns onto the marble floor.

The stones around me began to glow, a deep, bloodied red, and the woman that had helped me to arrange all of this began to chant, her voice low and monotone as a string of Latin rolled out of her mouth. I stared around me, unblinking, watching as the moon continued to rise, the entire room now bathed in the pallid, unearthly light. I paused, taking in the scene, listening to her sonorous voice as it rolled over each syllable. The marble floor almost looked like an ocean now, the black and white mixing with crackling waves of red.

I tightened my hands into fists, trying to stopper the blood that fell from my palm.

And suddenly I felt light; I felt… weightless, as though I could simply float away. No longer was I in the marble room on the earthen planet, but I was simply… away. Every attachment I had to the mortal realm seemed to leave my body as I extended to another plane of existence. I no longer felt, I simply was. I did not breathe, nor did I have the need for a heartbeat, I was thought and energy, I was lightning bolt clarity and neon flashes of insight. Eccentricity and intelligence were my languages, and no longer did I need a human tongue. My body was knowledge, my soul effervescence. I was alien and unnatural, and yet I could still feel my humanity gnawing away at my innards. I lived thousands of years in the span of a second. I was eternal and ageless, and I saw the universe laid out before me, from the moment of the beginning of time to the end and suddenly I thought, I remembered why I was there, that I couldn't remain there forever, though I desperately wished too.

The distant image of an office came into my mind, and the more I thought about it the more it _was_. And with a sudden jolt, I was ripped from the other dimension and flung without warning into a body. I came crashing into reality, my mind spinning and my hands shaking as I fell, down, down, and yet further down, praying that I might end up somewhere near where I had originally intended to go.


	2. Chapter 2

The last thing I can remember before I blacked out was the painful feeling of being flung into something quite solid, something that released a loud grunt as soon as I made contact with it.

Once again, darkness surrounded me, but this time the sheet of black that covered me and obscured my senses was not unwelcome. I found it rather comforting. Yes. If only I could remain like this forever, simply resting peacefully, not having to worry about a job like this. However luxuries like that were reserved for the dead, and I was more than alive.

I ripped open my eyes and was met with the sloping, slate white ceiling of the hospital wing.

Of course I panicked.

This was not where I was supposed to be.

I jerked upwards, trying to sit up in my bed, but just as soon as I moved I fell back down again, gasping aloud in pain. I must have alerted the nurse, because a woman came bustling over, wearing the usual uniform of Madam Pomfrey, but lacking the same face.

"Oh dear, _do_ be careful, we can't have you reinjuring a rib like that!" She was nothing but concerned. I narrowed my eyes. The mediwitch was plump, with large, rosy cheeks and sparkling blue eyes that screamed of youth, however, her aging skin and gray hair did not, and as far as I could tell she had to have at least been in her sixties, perhaps later than that.

"I injured a rib?" I inquired, and the woman moved to help me sit up, slowly allowing me to raise my torso up from the bed.

"Yes, sweetheart. It seems as though-"

We were interrupted, however, by the sudden sound of voices as two men strode into the hospital wing. One, a tall, tree of a man, sporting brilliant auburn hair and a long wizened beard, the other a far more feeble man, nearly bald and walking with something of a hunch.

I recognized them immediately as Professor Albus Dumbledore and the Headmaster of the day, Armando Dippet. I was quick to mask the grin that spread across my face.

They first greeted the mediwitch with a smile.

"Wonderful day we're heaving, isn't it, Madam Selwyn?" Dumbledore inquired, the signature twinkle in his eyes. The nurse turned a light shade of pink and nodded.

"Absolutely splendid."

"It seems as though our patient has woken up." Dippet remarked, casting a nonchalant glance to me before he returned his gaze to the matron. Dumbledore however, did not remove his gaze, and continued to stare at me, suspicion playing underneath his features. I did not break his gaze and smiled warmly at the younger version of my former headmaster. Dippet spoke again, "Any news of Tom?"

"He's awake, of course." Madam Selwyn stated. "Said he had to use the restroom so I allowed him too, as long as he promised to come back here as soon as he was done and-"

"Are you Headmaster Dippet?" I inquired innocently, interrupting their conversation and causing the three of them to look at me with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

"Why yes I am," Headmaster Dippet replied, searching my face for something, anything that may have given away that I was not to be trusted. After all, I had not arrived in the most conventional way, and it should've been noted that the spell Andromeda and I had used to get me here had been one of far more sinister origins…

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I blurted. "I wasn't supposed to arrive like this. I suppose the spell didn't work properly – we were in quite the rush, after all. You at least got my papers ahead of time, no?"

He scrutinized me, confusion evident across every one of his features.

"Pardon me, but I haven't the faintest idea of what you're going on about." He said simply, and I shook my head vehemently.

"I'm the transfer student," I explained. "From Beauxbatons. The owl must not have gone through with my papers… goodness knows one of Grindelwald's cronies must have intercepted it. I have my papers here if you'd like them." I glanced to my side, searching for my bag, only to find it sitting on the nightstand beside me. I leaned over to grab it, but as I did, a sharp pain shot through my side, and I reeled backwards in pain, the leather satchel falling from my hands and to the floor. The nurse tsked as she grabbed it. My breath caught in my throat. If she were to search through that bag…

"Careful, careful, dear." She cautioned, placing the bag in my lap with a soft glance. "You've still got some leftover internal bruising."

I thankfully inclined my head in her direction before I began to dig through the leather purse. After a moment I produced the few transcripts that I'd need. "These should be it," I said, offering the forged papers to the Headmaster with an encouraging smile. He took them and began to leaf through the pages, a thoughtful expression on his wizened face. "I tried to arrive by Portkey, of course, but it seems as though something went disastrously wrong when I cast the incantation. I was planning to arrive in front of the school, on the grounds…"

"You landed in my office, my dear." Headmaster Dippet said, his once guarded features now softened, taking on a fatherly appearance. "Right as I was giving our Head Boy and Girl instructions for patrols. Gave them quite a fright, I'm afraid."

"And a few broken bones." A piercing voice called from the other side of the room, and I turned my head, my jaw flexing slightly in recognition of a vaguely familiar tone.

"I'm sure she didn't mean to, Tom."

"Of course not, Headmaster." The young Voldemort replied, walking over to small crowd around my bed. The young man turned to me, a teasing smile on his face. "I was only joking, of course."

I did not smile back.

"We'll have to sort her, Armando, and inform the teachers of their new student." Dumbledore began, however, my attention was still focused somewhere else. My gaze was fixed on the young man in front of me, carefully sizing him up. My eyes instinctively narrowed as I took him in. I couldn't help but frown at his features, he certainly didn't look like the Voldemort I knew, nor did he look at all how I'd expected him to appear. This Voldemort was unassuming, and blatantly handsome, with a charming smile and agreeable countenance.

I was surprised by how utterly normal he looked.

"Perhaps Tom can show her around, Merlin knows a new student like her could use all the help she could get finding her way around the castle," Dippet announced and cast a sideways glance at the young man. Voldemort gave him a placating smile and stared at me, but I noticed his warm welcome did not reach his eyes, which were a dark and moody shade of blue - the sky in the height of summer, just before a storm. I wondered how hard it would've been to kill him now.

"Thank you, Headmaster," I said with a smile of my own, my eyes flashing as I stared at the elderly man, who beamed at me.

"No problem, my dear." He replied, and turned to the mediwitch beside my bed. "Is she in condition to move to my office?"

"It shouldn't be a problem, however…" Madam Selwyn turned to me, producing yet another vial that I had yet to notice. "Please drink this, dear."

I took it, but hesitated, "What is it?"

"Vitamix Potion, it should help to aid your recovery."

I nodded and drank the substance, which was far less vile than the draught I had consumed before I arrived here. She helped me up from the bed. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, trying my hardest to ignore the cruel ache of my ribs. It felt as though I had been whacked with a mallet, each movement I made pulling taught the tendons against my ribs and rubbing against the bruised muscle.

I finally stood and smoothed down my robes. Rising to my full height, I faced Voldemort, fixing him with a falsetto smile as I passed by him, my robes sweeping around me as I followed Dumbledore and the Headmaster from the room.

I peered around the office, which looked far larger, in my opinion, than it had during the 1990s. However this was 1944, and Dumbledore was not headmaster.

Dippet was obviously a very neat and meticulously organized person, however, it was clear that some of this organization had gone to waste over the years, along with the man himself. Small shelves lined the walls, each filled with an assortment of spell books, but aside from these bookcases, there was little else in the way of decoration.

"If you'll please, my dear." Dumbledore interrupted, pulling me from my reverie and causing my attention to fall on the towering wizard who stood with the sorting hat in his hands. I couldn't help but allow a small smile to cross my face as I recalled my original sorting, the hat taking nearly three minutes to decide which of the houses to place me in, which was ages compared to the time it had taken to sort many of the other students. I'd been concerned that'd I'd end up being a hatstall. Thank Merlin I hadn't been.

I moved towards him, sitting on the stool he was motioning too, and he nodded.

"This is the sorting hat," Dippet explained, noticing my expression and mistaking it for one of confusion. "Here at Hogwarts there are four houses, each ruled by a different set of morals and traits. The sorting hat here-"

"I know," I interrupted, cutting him off before he could offer any further explanation. "The four founders each imparted a piece of their personality into this hat, allowing it to, therefore, divide each child into their rightful house." I hesitated, noticing the look of surprise on his face. "I did my research before I came, of course."

"Of course." He muttered.

"Then without further ado, I suggest that we sort you!" Dumbledore interjected, shoving the sorting hat down on my head and plunging me into darkness.

I was met with a lilting voice, one that danced through my head in an almost amused manner.

 _"You're a bit old for this aren't you?"_ It inquired, and I couldn't help but allow a nostalgic grin to spread across my face. _"No matter."_ It went on. _"I am but a humble hat, one that entertains itself by sorting children such as yourself, so I will; of course, place you in a house deserving of yourself."_

 _"Alright then, hat,"_ I replied, my own voice filled with a similar amusement as its own. " _Do tell me what you see."_

A pregnant pause followed, and I assumed the hat was thinking over something for a moment, or perhaps perusing through the catalog of my mind, for a moment later it replied, filled with comments about my personality.

 _"I sense a level of sociability about you, one meritable of the advocate Hufflepuff. No…"_ It trailed off, correcting itself, and I rolled my eyes as it even considered placing me in the house of the badger. " _You're far too aggressive, and the kindness is lost on you. Perhaps… Gryffindor? 've certainly got the nerve, and the strong will."_

I chuckled aloud.

 _"What?"_ The hat inquired, torn from its spiel. But I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to see if I would perhaps be sorted into a different house than I had been the former time. I wanted to know if the so-called 'omniscient' hat could make a mistake.

" _Nothing,"_ I replied, prompting the hat to burst forth into another lengthy speech.

" _Oh but what is this I see?"_ It went on. " _My dear, you're very cunning, and what a monstrous ambition. You're resourceful as well… Slytherin would be a good match for you – but alas I do not think someone of your blood status would last terribly long in that house, not at this time."_

 _"I'm not afraid of a challenge."_ I hissed, causing the hat to cluck at me.

" _It would seem so… Yes… But you could do well in Gryffindor. You're very daring, Miss McDonnel. Oh Yes. Quite bold and outspoken, blunt and rude, not to mention the possessor of a rather explicit disregard of rules…"_ The hat rambled, " _But you lack a sense of justice; your morals are rather fleeting… Don't you have any standards?"_

No, I wanted to say, not anymore.

 _"Could you take any longer?"_ I snapped, causing the hat to release a low chuckle.

" _You know what? I think I know which house you belong too… Yes. That charisma, and the manipulation. The noble Miss McDonnel. Well then, better be-_

 _"_ **SLYTHERIN!"** The hat bellowed, and I ripped it off my head, my face emotionless as I looked at the three other men in the room. Dippet nodded solemnly, Dumbledore quirked an eyebrow, and Voldemort remained expressionless. I couldn't hide the smirk that spread across my face.

"Oh, how convenient! She's in your house, Tom!" Dippet exclaimed merrily, but Voldemort simply fixed me with a stony gaze. I stared testily back at him.

"So it would seem," He replied.

An uncomfortable silence followed, and Dippet swept over to his desk, clearing his throat after a moment to gain our attention.

"So, I assume I should work up a schedule for you." He announced, pulling out the papers I had given him earlier from a pocket of his robes. "I'll have to see your O.W.L.S. of course, and the rest of your transcript. They've been included along with these, I assume?"

I nodded, and he began to rifle through the stack, his once bemused expression growing more and more surprised as he perused the packet I had provided him with. As he read, his brows rose further and further towards his receding hairline. After a moment he finally spoke, his voice laced with astonished approval.

"Well Tom, I'm afraid that Miss McDonnel here could give even you a run for your money," Dippet remarked, causing an almost inaudible scoff to come from the boy standing only metres away from me. But I only ignored him, allowing a pleasant smirk to spread across my face, knowing that these were the O.W.L.s I had scored no less than three years ago. "My dear, these are quite impressive, you know."

"Why thank you, Headmaster," I replied, the smirk now quite present on my smug face.

"Well then…" He went on. "It's safe to say that you'll be having most, if not all of the same classes with Tom here." My smirk faltered at that, almost completely disappearing from my face as I stared at the Headmaster. Dippet rambled on, oblivious. "Now which electives would you like to take, here at Hogwarts we offer different courses than your former school, obviously."

"Such as?" I prompted through gritted teeth, and the Headmaster nodded.

"Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Divination, Magical Civics and Sociology, and Muggle Studies. You have to pick a minimum of one of these classes, but you may take two if you so wish." He rambled.

I paused a moment, thinking over my options. Care of Magical Creatures had begun to wear on me, and Ancient Runes was intriguing, but I didn't really have time to learn runes did I? No, not when I had to figure out some way to rid the world of the young Voldemort in less than a year.

"I'll be taking Divination, and Muggle Studies, if you don't mind." I blurted. Both I assumed to be relatively easy. But how would I know? I had never taken them during my time at Hogwarts.

"Alright then." Dippet said, "Now, I believe Tom can show you to your dorms?" Dippet glanced at the younger man, who nodded solemnly.

"Of course, professor."

And without further ado, he turned on his heel, practically floating out of the room and leaving me behind in the dust.

I scowled and followed after him, my footsteps echoing along with every step I took, while his made no sound.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." He said softly as I caught up with him, my long strides quickly falling into step beside his own. I cast a sideways glance at him, my eyes lingering over his features. His hair was black, and curled slightly, softening his strong features and giving him an almost boyish elegance. His eyes, too, were very dark, but instead of the ebony of his hair they were a deep, swirling azure. A pair of blooming delphiniums, with curling cobalt petals and glossy black pupils. He had high, sharp cheek bones, a proud nose, and an elegant jaw – the face of a man used to giving orders, the face of an aristocrat.

Voldemort shouldn't have looked like that. He had a thick, leathery hide and red reptilian eyes, _not_ fair skin and forget-me-not blue eyes. The devil wasn't supposed to be pretty.

 _But,_ I reminded myself, _Lucifer was always known as the most beautiful angel._

"Is Hogwarts much different than Beauxbatons?" He inquired, his voice cutting through the air between us and causing me to glance up at him, his features yet again unreadable. I nodded slowly.

"Quite a bit, actually."

He gave me a contemplative look before he spoke again, his features a mask, but his eyes a fire, wrestling to break free as he stared at me.

"You don't sound terribly French," He stated. "You certainly don't look it either."

I scoffed, trying to play off the moment as if he were acting ridiculous.

"Just because I attended Beauxbatons doesn't mean I grew up in France," I replied evenly. "My mother's family was German, and my father hailed from England. We lived in the UK quite a while before they made their move to France."

He searched me with discerning eyes but didn't find anything else to critique me on, so he let his voice fall silent. An uncomfortable silence settled between us, and neither of us made any attempt to break it. We continued ono in silence until we had arrived at the Slytherin commons. He departed from me after hastily informing me of the password and inclining his head in a goodbye.

I never went in.


	3. Chapter 3

"Are ye lost?"

I gave the boy, who couldn't have been over 13, a sheepish smile, "Something like that, yes. You see I'm new here – a transfer from Beauxbatons, but I'm afraid I don't know where I'm supposed to be. Would you mind pointing me in the direction of the transfiguration classroom? I'm trying to greet all of my teachers beforehand."

"Aye, it's right in this direction. Folla' me." He took off down the hall before I could protest.

"Thank you so much."

"No need ta' thank me. 'Tis a pleasure. I'm Jay Wooldridge by the way."

"Well it's wonderful to meet you Jay Wooldridge; the pleasure is all mine," I said, and I watched as a pink flush spread across his features.

He nodded, but his mouth remained shut until we arrived at the transfiguration classroom, at which point his dismissed me with a simple, "HerewearemaybeI'llseeyouaroundbyemiss," and he was gone.

I entered the classroom without a sound, but I was at least polite enough to knock before I entered the office, and the door was being opened within seconds. Dumbledore stood in the frame, a faltering smile across his face, "Miss McDonnel?"

"Yes Professor, I had a few questions regarding the Transfiguration curriculum that I was wondering if I could discuss with you, do you mind if I could come in?"

"Of course, of course, please make yourself comfortable," Dumbledore said, ushering me into the office with a flourish of his hand. I sank into a plush chair just as he was closing the door behind him. "I was just making tea – you see, would you like some?"

"Yes, sir. I hope it's something strong, though. Merlin knows that's what I need at the moment," I remarked, more to myself than anyone else, but all the same he still heard it.

"Miss McDonnel is everything alright?" Dumbledore inquired, his eyes twinkling in an all too familiar way as he stared at me from his position beside his teapot.

I didn't answer, but opted instead for something much more ambiguous, "Professor do you mind if I cast a silencing charm on the door? I wouldn't want anyone else to hear our conversation."

His smile fell, and I watched as something akin to uncertainty flicked across Albus Dumbledore's face.

"What would it matter if anyone hears our conversation about the Transfiguration curriculum?" He asked, and I bowed my head.

"Oh believe me it wouldn't matter, but I'm afraid that's not what I'm here to talk with you about," I stated. Dumbledore tensed. "Now before you start jumping to conclusions because I can tell you're already on the defense, I'm only telling you this because you're the only person at Hogwarts that I believe I can trust."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I just need you to listen to me, alright?" I prompted. Now can you please make sure that this conversation is kept in complete privacy before we begin?"

He flicked his wand. "There, no one outside can hear us."

"And the portraits?" I motioned to the framed pictures of several witches and wizards that hung on the wall. Dumbledore seemed mildly surprised, however, it was nothing in comparison to the utter affrontation that a wizened old wizard on the wall seemed to feel.

"Whatever she has to say to you she can say in front of us!" He barked.

"I'm afraid I'm in agreement with Burdock," Dumbledore said, his tone clearly apologetic. I gritted my teeth.

"Headmaster, please I-"

"Headmaster?"

I didn't miss a beat, "Oh, sorry, slip of the tongue. It's a lot being introduced to all these new teachers, you know. In fact, I almost called Professor Beery headmaster earlier. An honest mistake, you see?"

"I see…"

"But honestly Professor, I really, really need to talk to you in private. It's important… er, _personal_ stuff. Yes, I have personal stuff that I would like to discuss with you and I'd be utterly mortified if another teacher found out. I didn't want to say it earlier, of course, because I was afraid that another student might hear me and…" I trailed off, noticing a look of deep concentration folding Dumbledore's features together. He flicked his wand again. All five portraits disappeared.

"I know you were lying about the personal stuff, Miss McDonnel. However, the reason I have done as you asked and remained sitting here is because you seemed genuinely _concerned_ about something. What it is, though, I have no idea," Dumbledore said. "So please, enlighten me."

"First of all, I have a letter for you. I would recommend that you read it before we carry this conversation any further," I announced, handing over a crisp envelope, written only a week before my departure. Dumbledore seemed mildly surprised as he turned the letter over in his hands, even more surprised when he examined the seal.

"Where did you get this?" He blurted, and I swallowed.

"A close friend of yours wrote it for me. He's a friend of mine as well, you see. Quite close to my great-grandfather on my father's side."

Dumbledore nodded, somewhat hesitantly, and broke the waxen seal. He removed two pieces of parchment, and I waited patiently as he read their contents.

I'm sure that only a few minutes passed, but it felt like hours passed as he read, and read, and read even more. His eyes were frantic as they shot across the pages, his expression growing more and more surprised, more and more horrified. Occasionally he looked indulgent. Other times he looked concerned. But there was something present on his face the entire time he read, something I'd never seen on Albus Dumbledore's face in all my years of knowing him – and that was fear.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was scared. And rightly so.

He finally spoke in a steady tone.

"This is all true?"

"Yes, I'm afraid it is. And I really hate to burden you with information like this but it seems to be my only option. Professor, you're the only one I can trust."

"I just – it's a lot for me to take in, Miss – Johanna. You have to understand…" He muttered, and I watched on as his hands went to massage his temples. "How can you be here, though? As far as I know, there is no spell to send anymore more than a few days back in time. But to send someone weeks, _years,_ away… Unless… No, you wouldn't have. That spell is too dangerous, too dark. No one even knows if it could work, much less," Dumbledore hesitated, and fixed his eyes on mine. "You didn't, did you?"

"I did what I had to do," I stated. "It's different where I come from. People die every day. Hundreds of them. Muggles and elves and wizards and centaurs and giants and every creature you can possibly imagine. And we _had_ to do something to stop it."

The spell I had performed was a dark one indeed, and Dumbledore knew this. But he had to realize that we had no other options. Killing one man was a sacrifice that had to be made in order to save thousands of others.

"Who was it?" He inquired, and I bowed my head.

"A man from their side," I took a breath, not wanting to relive the darkness. I hated the carnage, the war, the loss; I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy. Yet, here I was "But the point is, if I succeed and do manage to kill Voldemort during this time, none of that will ever happen. Don't you see? I'll be preventing the deaths of thousands."

"It is a noble thing indeed," Dumbledore remarked, "But what about all the lives Tom will grow up to touch? What of their deaths? What about the un-births that could occur because of this? What of the risks?"

"I'm perfectly aware of the risks, thank you, Professor," I snapped.

"And why this time? If you're so determined to kill Tom then why not do it when he is even more vulnerable – a child perhaps?"

I swallowed. Hard.

"We tried that, actually. I'm the third one to get sent back. So far we haven't suffered any repercussions, but we obviously haven't had any successes either."

Dumbledore released a heavy breath. "So what would you like me to do to help?"

"I know it's asking for a lot, and I'm sorry, but the people from my time agreed that I'd be better off telling you, so I had someone on my side," I stated. "For now I don't need you to do anything. Just maybe put in a good word for me with the other teachers and Dippet. I don't want anyone getting suspicious."

"Have you come up with a plan for Tom then?" Dumbledore asked, and I bit my lip.

"Well, no, not really. I'm still working on that."

I was met by silence.

Dumbledore's presence was certainly comforting, but in no way was it helpful. He couldn't do much aside from cover my trails, and thus far I hadn't managed to leave any. Perhaps it was foolish of me to get him involved, however, I couldn't go back and correct my actions. What's done was done. Ironic considering that's why I was here in the first place…

I shook my head and withdrew a pen from my bag.

I was halfway through filling out an order from Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions (conveniently existent even in the 1940s) when a cough sounded from beside me.

The scratching of my pen against parchment paused, and I glanced up at the intruder.

A toothy smile was plastered across his face, long curls of messy hair spilling from his head and down to his shoulders in a fashion that I doubted many from the 1940s would approve.

"Can I help you?" I blurted, surprised by how waspish my voice sounded. The stranger was nonplussed.

"Yes actually, you can. You see I was looking for a new student. A Slytherin girl, transferred from Beauxbatons. And you look like you know exactly where I'll be able to find her."

I couldn't tell if he was trying to be funny, or if he was just really, _really_ stupid.

"And why were you looking for her, exactly?" I asked, and he released a laugh.

"Well old Horace sent me up from Potions to fetch her," The stranger offered. "Said something about wanting to meet his new student, you know how he is for formalities and the like. Or, actually, you don't."

 _Horace Slughorn._

"Well, how about you tell your pal Horace that she's busy at the moment," I quipped, returning to my writing.

 _Self Ironing Robes, Green and Silver, Item #307 x2_

 _See attached vault number for-_

A low whistle interrupted me as the stranger stuck out his hand, "Alphard Black, seventh year Slytherin." I hesitated a moment before taking it, surprised by his firm grip.

"Johanna McDonnel, a pleasure," I replied, and a smarmy grin stole across his features.

"Believe me, the pleasure is _all_ mine," He said, and I scoffed and withdrew my hand. He didn't seem to notice. "Welcome to Slytherin house. I would say that you're going to love it, but regrettably, almost everyone in Slytherin is an arrogant prick."

"Glad to see you're honest," I retorted and returned my attention to my letter. I'd already filled out an Owl Express form for textbooks, parchment, an assortment of items for potions, and the latest model of broom that existed in this era (which was desperately slow). All I had to do was finish ordering the robes and-

"What are you so busy writing anyway?" Alphard inquired, and I cast him a stale glare.

"It's a form if you must know. I forgot to buy robes this year, so it looks like I'm going to have to order some new ones," I stated. "Shove off, will you?"

Alphard, however, seemed to have no plans of shoving off anytime soon. Presently I had far more important things to worry about than the young Black, though, so I merely ignored him. A lightbulb went off just as I was signing my name. I folded the form and borrowed a nearby owl, sending it off with the others. Alphard watched, and I was honestly surprised by his silence.

"Would you mind leading me in the direction of Horace? We've certainly kept him waiting long enough."


	4. Chapter 4

"It's so wonderful to meet you, Professor Slughorn. I've heard such wonderful things about you from the other students."

In reality, the only things Johanna had heard about the Slughorn of this era were from Alphard, and everything Alphard had said about his pal Horace had been most certainly not wonderful.

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine, my dear." Slughorn reached for her hand and planted a kiss on the top of it, oozing what he considered to be class and style. In Slughorn's mind, he was a man of sophistication and refinement, and yes, he most definitely was one for formalities and the like.

In Johanna's mind, Slughorn was a fool.

He was also her ticket to getting into the Slug Club.

"Alphard here told me that you're head of Slytherin house, and I have to admit, I can't think of anyone more suited to the job than you," She schmoozed.

It is important to note that during this time Alphard was more than surprised to see Johanna, who moments before had been mocking Slughorn alongside him, acting like this.

Also important to note, was that Slughorn held a particular dislike for Alphard Black, considering the horrendous things he had heard of the boy from Alphard's sister. In fact, the only reason Slughorn had sent the Black to find the new student was because Alphard had been helping tidy up Slughorn's potions cabinet, after pulling a terrible prank on the bus that resulted in Slughorn's skin turning a terrific shade of turquoise. Alphard thought it a magnum opus, a tour de force. Slughorn thought it a crime.

Thankfully both men chose to put aside their disagreements for the moment in order to maintain a peaceful ground with Johanna.

"Armando was kind enough to show me your O.W.L.s when I asked if he was certain he wanted you to be in advanced potion-making – it's quite a hard class you see, and well not many students are capable of succeeding, even in my normal potions class," Slughorn's eyes cut to Alphard, who in turn shot the older man a glare. "But I must say I am _quite_ impressed with you, my girl." Slughorn hesitated, and for a fleeting moment, Johanna almost thought that he was going to extend an invitation to the Slug Club.

That moment was very brief. Slughorn cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Well," He began, "I do believe that it is time for dinner. Come along Johanna, I'll show you to the great hall."

Johanna was quick to hide the disappointment that stole across her face when changed the subject. Alphard didn't bother to hide the relief that stole across his face when he discovered that they were finally going to exit Slughorn's stuffy office in search of something absolutely wonderful – food.

"So what's the schedule at Hogwarts? I really love having an itinerary, I'm what you would call a neat freak," Johanna admitted. However, she wasn't really admitting anything. In fact, what she'd said could be nothing farther from the truth. Johanna McDonnel hated order, and she hated schedules. She thrived in chaotic environments and high-pressure situations. She adored throwing together plans and thrived on impulsive decisions.

But she knew Horace Slughorn loved his planner almost as much as he loved watching _Brookside_ or _EastEnders_ and any other muggle soap opera he could get his hands on.

She was a Slytherin, and she knew a thing or two about manipulation by now.

"I'm so glad that you asked, my dear!" Slughorn blurted, throwing an arm over her shoulder as he guided her through the massive corridor. Alphard trailed behind. "The day begins with breakfast in the Great Hall, food is on the table at eight o'clock sharp, however, most of the students don't show up until roughly eight thirty."

"More like nine," Alphard called. So he was listening.

Slughorn ignored the boy and continued. "During breakfast, the morning mail, by owl of course. The bell rings at approximately nine o'clock, the same time that all of the food is magicked away from the tables. If you show up at or after nine," He paused dramatically, casting a pitying look in the direction of Alphard, who rolled his eyes. "There will be no food. Class starts at nine-o-five. You will have two morning classes with a twenty-minute break in between, followed by lunch. After lunch classes resume at one-o-five sharp. You'll be taking two classes in the afternoon. Supper is served at six-thirty. Students are expected to be in their House common rooms for studying and socializing no later than nine-o-clock. If you're caught out after hours you'll be disciplined, obviously. However, I doubt we have to worry about that with you, Johanna dear."

"Of course not, Professor," She replied, shrugging off his arm.

"Ah! Looks like we're here," Slughorn blurted. "I know that your potions class with me will be second period tomorrow morning. I'm looking forward to seeing you there."

"As am I, Professor."

"Well, I'll be seeing you on the morrow then!"

"Goodbye, Professor."

And with that Horace Slughorn strolled into the Great Hall, beaming after meeting the newest addition to his house, and what he expected to be the newest addition to his Slug Club.

Alphard Cepheus Eridanus Ophiuchus Black, however, was not impressed.

"And what the bloody hell was that?" He blurted, the moment Horace was out of earshot. Johanna turned to face him, and she – wait, did she just _roll her eyes_? At _him_?

"What do you mean?" She asked, knowing very well what exactly he meant.

"You know exactly what I mean," Alphard barked. "What were you doing kissing Slughorn's arse like that? I didn't take you for an arse kissing goody-two-shoes, but I suppose I could've misjudged you."

"I've found that becoming one of your professor's prized students is _far_ more beneficial in the long run than encouraging your professor to despise you," Johanna retorted, striding away from him and into the great hall, which was already bustling with activity. Alphard tore after her.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Are you thick?" She hissed, rounding on him. "It means that by kissing my professors' arses I can get away with quite a bit more than I would have otherwise. Honestly, Alphard." Her pace picked up and she continued towards the Slytherin table.

"But wouldn't that ruin it?"

"It's part of the fun, Alphard," She said, releasing a soft laugh. "Now, where should we sit, or would you rather me choose?"

"We? Who said we were sitting anywhere together?"

"Right then, please, don't let me plague you anymore with my presence," Johanna announced, settling herself near the end of the Slytherin table, across from a pair of girls with kind faces.

She wasn't surprised when Alphard slipped into the empty seat beside her.

"Are you the transfer?" A gruff voice inquired, and Johanna turned her head to stare at a young woman with short, curly locks of dark brown hair and blazing amber eyes.

If there was one thing that hadn't changed about Hogwarts, it was its outstanding ability to spread gossip like wildfire.

"Yeah."

"I'm Hera." The girl said.

"Alright, Hera. I'm Johanna," and on a whim, she added, "But you can call me Jo if you'd like. It's what all my friends used to call me."

"Nice to meet you, Joey. I'm Rosaline Clarke, by the way. But Rosaline is such a terribly long name, don't you think? Everyone just calls me Rose."

Johanna almost let out a gasp at the sight of the girl.

Rosaline Clarke was the exact picture of a young witch named Luna Lovegood. A young witch that Johanna McDonnel knew very, very well.

"You look surprised," Rosaline noted. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine," Johanna replied. "You just look a lot like someone I know."

"You remind me of a friend I once had as a child. Seraphina was her name. My parents keep telling me that she was imaginary, but you can understand why I can't believe them. I wonder what-"

"For a newbie, I have to admit that you chose your company smart," Hera remarked. "Alphard here is one of the few Slytherins that I know that isn't a total dick, although he does have his moments."

"Hera is a Gryffindor," Rosaline offered. "She has rather, _strong_ opinions about everyone in our house."

"I can't blame her," Johanna replied. "No offense to you, of course, but throughout the day I've had the misfortune of running into some pretentious prats. You see that guy over there – now don't stare! Yeah, the one that looks like he has a toupee. His name is Riddle, I think."

"His name is Tom Riddle and he's the biggest bastard I know," Hera sneered. Rosaline smacked her on the arm.

"Hera!"

"She's right, you know," Alphard pointed out.

"He's not really that bad once you get to know him. I, for one, find him quite charming."

Hera rolled her eyes, "No one asked what you thought, Rose."

"Headmaster Dippet asked him to show me to the dorms after the incident I had with him. Let's just say someone needs to pull the broomstick out of his arse before it goes any further," Johanna chimed in.

"Wait what incident?" Alphard inquired.

"Oh, you didn't know? Well, when I was arriving by portkey I landed in the headmaster's office just as he was having his start of the school year chat with the head boy and girl. And when I say landed I mean that I crashed into Riddle. I think he broke three or four ribs, maybe an arm," Johanna said, glancing down at her fingers in disinterest. Although she knew that she had very much captured their interest.

"You _what?!_ " Hera roared.

"In the name of Merlin…"

"I would've paid a thousand galleons – no – a _million_ galleons to see the look on Tom's face after that happened," Alphard blurted.

Johanna couldn't contain herself, and she erupted in a fit of laughter. Hera, Rosaline, and Alphard followed suit.

The Sorting followed shortly afterward, and Johanna leaned her elbows against the table as she watched the first years march, rather terrified, in the direction of the magical object. There was a hatstall, a young girl taking approximately six minutes and ultimately being sorted into Slytherin. Johanna felt a tug at her heart.

The sorting ended and she turned her head to see if Dippet would speak, as Dumbledore did almost every year before the feast. Dippet did not. She frowned.

And, like magic, the food appeared on the table.

To say that Johanna was hungry would have been a gross understatement. Her belly ached like it had never ached before. Apparently, traveling back in time would give one a horrendous appetite.

There was sizzling bacon and steak, beef casserole and black pudding. Lamb chops and pork chops and roast beef and roast chicken. Sausages and Shepard's pie and pudding and stew. Tripe and Yorkshire Pudding. Every kind of casserole that one could imagine. Savory pies and sweet pies and all around perfect pies and fried sausages. Carrots and chips, peas and potatoes and tomatoes. Butter and thick, savory gravy. All kinds of jams and biscuits and breads.

Dessert came next, in towering platforms and humble plates. Artful displays and plain stacks. There were apple pies and éclairs, chocolate gateau and all kinds of tarts. Ice creams and jam doughnuts. Spotted dick and cream and succulent strawberries. An array of trifles and an army of cakes.

Johanna indulged, just as everyone else did. Belts were loosened, buttons undone, clothes stretched. Everyone got a little fatter, and everyone got a little happier.

If anything was every familiar to her, it was the start-of-year feast. Some things would never change, it seemed.

The food disappeared and Dippet rose. Johanna felt a pull at her sleeve. She turned to stare at Alphard.

"What?" She demanded.

"You've eaten like twenty of those things, are you alright?"

She frowned and looked at the minuscule, blue breathmint she was about to put in her mouth.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you."

"You sure? You're practically obsessed with those." Hera remarked.

"It can't be healthy," Rosaline added.

Johanna shot them both a glare as Dippet started speaking.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, friends, and a very special welcome to our new members," Dippet paused as a chorus of applause met him, many people cheering for the first years. Alphard elbowed her. Johanna restrained herself from punching Alphard. "I would also like to welcome another addition to our family here at Hogwarts," Johanna sucked on her teeth, but was thankful to see a petite witch rise from the professors' table. "Give a round of applause for your new Astronomy teacher, Nova Kingsley!" Another round of raucous applause followed, just as Dippet had encouraged. "Now for a few start of term announcements. Mr. Macmillan, our groundskeeper here at Hogwarts, has placed a strict ban on any kind of graffiti or destruction of school property. Also banned is any sort of muggle fireworks, considering the rather tragic incident we had last year. There is not now, nor has there ever been, a fifth house at Hogwarts, and Alphard Black is not a member of that house nor is he its founder." Chuckles echoed from around the Great Hall and Johanna turned to raise an eyebrow at the boy sitting beside her, who responded by turning a deep shade of red. Dippet pushed onward. "Students are allowed to bring a toad, cat, rat, or owl. Students are _not_ allowed to have a reticulating Python, snow leopard, Tasmanian devil or piranha. A reminder to the Shafiq brothers, lions do not count as cats, nor does the Spotted Albanian Amphibian count as a toad. Quiddich tryouts will take place next week, as always. And our lovely Professor Merrythought has been kind enough to put together a dueling club, which will begin meeting toward the end of October. Professor Berry will also be holding auditions soon for his pantomime adaption of the fable The Fountain of Fair Fortune, which will be performed during the Yuletide season at Hogwarts. For further information please contact Professor Berry," A few scattered claps before Dippet spoke once more. "Welcome again to Hogwarts, I'm sure that this year will be one to remember."


	5. Chapter 5

"Well, any news of the plan?" asked Albus Dumbledore, his eyes sparkling in anticipation as he stared down at the young woman he had addressed.

There was, of course, no news of any sort of plan, and there probably wouldn't be anytime soon.

Johanna McDonnel hadn't made a plan because she hadn't thought there was any use for one. In her mind, it was quite simple.

Go back.

Find Voldemort.

Kill him.

Dance on his ashes.

The end.

"It's coming along wonderfully," Johanna blurted, a toothy grin blossoming across her face. "Obviously I can't tell you all the details now," she motioned to the students bumbling about her in the hallway, "but I'll inform you if anything important occurs."

"Wonderful," Dumbledore beamed.

She shifted under the weight of her satchel and nodded. "I'll see you later then, Professor. Transfiguration is my last period today, you know."

"Good day, Johanna."

As she strode away from him, all that Johanna could think of was how much of a very _un_ good day it was.

She'd woken up late and several of her packages had been delayed – something about backorders that Madam Malkin still had to make. Breakfast was gone by the time she arrived, and she was almost tardy to her first period, History of Magic (singlehandedly the biggest snooze of a course at Hogwarts).

And now Dumbledore had stopped her to ask her about her _plan._ How wonderful.

The halls were clear by the time she arrived at the dungeon, the bell having rung what seemed like hours ago.

Slughorn was kind enough not to mind her tardiness. In fact, he seemed rather eager upon her arrival.

"Oh there you are my dear," Slughorn greeted. "Please do take a seat; we were just about to start."

However Johanna did not take a seat, nor did she possess any desire to do so anytime soon.

Slughorn paid her no mind, "I believe that there is an empty seat left at Tom's station. You two can work together for today."

And _Tom_ , as if on cue, fixed her with what could have been considered a dazzling smile. Her stomach curdled as she made her way to the empty chair. Rosaline cast her an apologetic smile from the left side of the room.

"Welcome to your second year of N.E.W.T. level potions," Slughorn started. "I'm your Professor – well, you lot already know me so I'm sure that I can just save the introductions for the first years." A chorus of chuckles rumbled across the classroom, the loudest belonging to Slughorn himself. The Professor continued, "For you to have made it this far, you must have displayed a striking aptitude and interest for this class, and because I consider you all to be some of the most responsible and trustworthy students at Hogwarts, I've decided to change up the curriculum a bit this year. Please open your textbooks to page thirty-seven."

I extracted the rather hefty textbook from my bag and settled _A Lexicon of Potions, Tonics, Elixirs, and Poisons_ by Wylandriah Wuunferth comfortably on the top of the desk.

"Now to begin," Slughorn continued, "a review of what we learned during you sixth year. Can anyone refresh my memory of the effects of Felix Felicis? Yes, Tom?"

She hadn't even seen his hand move, and yet there it was, cutting through the air less than a metre away from her own.

"Felix Felicis causes the drinker to have a limited period of good luck, during which they are likely to succeed in all endeavors in which success is possible," The young Voldemort announced.

"Correct, ten points to Slytherin!" Slughorn beamed. "Now let me ask you this, is the drinker granted any kind of extraordinary powers or abilities during – yes, Septimus?"

I turned to stare at a boy with slicked back brown hair, an obvious swagger present as he answered, "Well obviously, Professor. Along with a healthy dose of confidence."

"I'm afraid not, Septimus," Slughorn said. "The manifestation of luck is accomplished not through the direct application of force or granting the drinker any extraordinary powers, but by inspiring the drinker with a favorable pathway through the circumstances." Slughorn paused, "Now the question is, should one really take liquid luck? Or is it too risky?"

The boy beside me was speaking before anyone ever asked him to in the first place. "As long as Felix Felicis is not used in excess, I see no reason for one not to drink the potion. A few days of good luck are certainly not going to harm anyone."

"I beg to differ," I chimed in. "It is hard to determine exactly how much Felix is too much for one to consume, as the very nature of its side effects. Recklessness and extreme overconfidence can become dangerous to one's conscious. And aside from that, liquid luck is a _banned_ substance in almost all organized competitions, such as Quidditch. It is very difficult to make, disastrous if made wrong, and requires six months to stew before it is ready to be consumed."

A scoff echoed from beside me, and I glanced at the young Voldemort who had a rather contemptuous expression settled across his face. "Obviously that was why I said it was safe when taken in _small_ amounts. No wizard stupid enough to guzzle the substance should even have access to it in the first place. Felix provides the drinker with good fortune by offering both confidence and guidance to him and manipulating the actions of others; Felix gives us what we need, and undoubtedly serves as a benefit not only to the drinker but to those around him."

"A _benefit_?" Johanna retorted, "The Felix potion allows the drinker to have good luck by applying gentle direction toward the most favorable path, but it also shows clear signs of affecting others, and not necessarily in a positive way as you seemed to believe. In fact, if drunk by darker wizards with less than honorable intentions, Felix Felicis could prove to be very, very dangerous. And aside from the secondhand side-effects, the fatal flaw that Felix possesses is its inability to last. When Felix Felicis wears off the drinker's inflated sense of confidence fades, and unlucky circumstances are quick to catch back up to him. Luck runs out eventually. A truly _powerful_ wizard relies on skill and good planning, not something as fickle and ridiculous as _luck_."

Tom Marvolo Dickhead did not look pleased.

"Twenty points to Slytherin for that magnificently stimulating argument!" Slughorn blurted. "This is the sort of thing that I look for in my N.E.W.T. classes. Critical thinking and application. Terrific ideas, Johanna, you too Tom."

Obviously, she smirked like a fiend.

The rest of the class was horrifically boring. Slughorn lectured on the foundational differences between draughts and potions, several students fell asleep, and Voldemort kept shooting Johanna furious glances.

In her opinion, it was a _very_ successful day.

* * *

Charms dragged by at an almost criminal speed. Transfiguration was something of a bore as well. Dumbledore, in his younger years at least, had a habit of rambling on about seemingly unimportant details. Falco Aesalon was the topic of the day's lecture – the first animagi and one of the most successful wizards in the history of transfiguration. Dumbledore adored the subject. The effect was lost on many of his students.

Johanna McDonnel gnawed on the quill she held, her brows folded in frustration as she stared at the sheet of paper in front of her, blank but for the two words that stared up at her.

 _To Do:_

Planning the murder of Tom Marvolo Riddle was proving to be much harder than she'd imagined.

"You look constipated."

Johanna glanced up at the newly arrived nuisance. Alphard fixed her with a grin.

"Would you like me to perform an anti-constipation incantation?"

"You're disgusting," Johanna blurted. Alphard pretended not to notice.

"No? Perhaps an excrement exorcism, then. I've heard they work wonders on the defecation distressed."

"Will you shut up already?" Johanna fired back, but even she couldn't hide the laugh that escaped her lips.

Alphard sank down beside her on the blanket of earth, "What's all that about?"

"Well considering it's got 'To Do' written across the top, I'd say it's a to-do list," Johanna retorted.

"Are you always this snappish?"

She paused for a moment, considering his words and said, quite simply, "I'm just stressed."

"And you make to do lists when you're stressed?" He inquired.

 _Of course she didn't._

"Yes."

Alphard fixed her with a look she'd seen Harry and Ron give Hermione many times over the years – one she'd even given Hermione herself.

"You're mad," Alphard blurted.

Johanna didn't miss a beat when she replied, "It's been said." She returned her gaze to the parchment lying in front of her, fragments of sunlight slipping through the boughs of the tree that peered over her shoulder. Her pencil pressed into the thick papyrus, and words began to form beneath her steady hand.

 _Kill Voldemort._

Alphard, of course, saw none of this. Johanna had been quick to cast a befuddlement charm before she began to write. Her companion was probably reading some gibberish about their History of Magic homework for the night.

Johanna paused to take in a breath, inhaling the sweet, buttery air of late summer. Her eyes roamed around her settings. She was slightly to the east of the castle, near the greenhouses. The smell of flora floated around her, as well as the crisp scent of the lake, which lay a few hundred metres away from where she sat. The sun smiled at the water below, and the lake's surface seemed to slither past, glistening in a patterned pelt of murky black and startling white. Several students milled about the trodden path leading to the body of water, a group of rambunctious first years daring one another to jump in. Some Ravenclaw girls flocked at another nearby oak, and a number of the older boys stood near the eastern edge of the castle.

"Johanna? You in there?"

She snapped her attention away from the crowd of boys and back to Alphard who eyed her in growing disinterest.

"What?" She demanded.

"Honestly I thought you'd gone brain dead for a moment – ignoring me and staring at Lestrange and company over there," Alphard stated, finally capturing her attention.

"Lestrange and company?" She echoed, more of a statement than a question.

All the same, Alphard answered her, eager for the chance to enlighten her of their infamous classmate. "Albert Lestrange – he's in our grade you know. A Slytherin too. Also a _total_ prat. Not as bad as Malfoy of course, but he's part of the reason that our house has been gaining such a bad reputation."

"I thought the bad reputation stemmed from the racism and prejudice that many Slytherins seem to exhibit," Johanna stated. "Oh, and the big Chamber of Secrets scandal. I mean if I-"

"Where'd you hear about the Chamber of Secrets?" Alphard interrupted. "I thought no one outside of Hogwarts knew about it."

Johanna didn't miss a beat. "Oh, one of the girls in the dorms was telling me about it last night."

"Was it that Eleanor Burke?" Alphard demanded. "I wouldn't be surprised. She's got one of the biggest mouths in the history of Hogwarts." He paused, "Wait, what were we talking about again?"

"Lestrange and company."

"Oh right, yes, Lestrange and company – the ones you were making doll eyes at."

Johanna scoffed, "I was doing nothing of the sort."

"Gits, everyone one of 'em," Alphard continued. "The snobbiest of snobblers."

Johanna quirked a brow, "Snobblers?"

"A special breed of git," Alphard explained. "Honestly, I _loathe_ having to share a room with them. The only two in our year that I can stand are Kenneth and Leon, and even Leo can be a bugger sometimes. But mark my words; every other chap in our year is a prat, like Lestrange."

"Riddle too?" Johanna inquired, and Alphard let out a humourless laugh.

" _Especially_ Riddle. He's king of the gits. They practically worship the ground he walks on. Personally, I don't see where – Johanna?" Alphard paused midsentence, staring up at Johanna who had risen from her seat on the ground.

"You've just given me a wonderful idea!" She blurted. "Thank you, Alphard!"

"Oh, um… sure. Don't mention it."

But by the time he had finished talking she was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

It was clear by now that if she wanted to kill the young Voldemort she'd have to find some way to get rid of the false doctrine that he had already begun to fill his followers' heads with. Obviously, she couldn't kill them – if she did she would be no better than the man that had poisoned their minds to begin with. No, she'd have to do something different – something crafty. Perhaps she could obliviate their memories? Filling their brains with false memories didn't seem like a terrible idea…

But the first step to the downfall of Voldemort would be taken in a much more subtle direction; she'd have to win his followers' trust. In fact…

"Having fun, mudblood?"

Johanna glanced up from her bed, quirking a brow at the sudden arrival of Walburga the Witch.

Or Walburga the Bitch, whichever you preferred, really.

"Are _you_ having fun, Walburga?"

Instead of answering the question, Walburga asked another one of her own, "What're you writing? Letters to your muggle mummy and daddy back home?"

"I'm actually plotting your death. I was thinking of Rackharrow's entrail expelling curse. Doesn't that sound lovely?"

Walburga laughed, the sound high-pitched and cold against the stone walls of their dormitory.

"I'd like to see you try."

Johanna would've like to see herself try as well, however she wasn't foolish enough to paint their room Black. Walburga could wait. She wasn't a threat; she was a nuisance.

And a very bothersome one at that.

Walburga Black had entered stage right, with a flourish, the night before while Johanna was introducing herself to her new roommates. The first thing she said flew out of her mouth in a series of drawling words and haughty intonations, parading around the room in a way quite similar to Walburga's own strutting.

It is important to note that Walburga strut. She never walked to and fro, nor did she stomp or storm or glide or traipse or run. It could be argued that she paraded, pranced, or perhaps prowled; however, it can be said without a doubt, that Walburga Black strutted like some sort of glorified peacock.

"You seem to be in good spirits, Walburga." Johanna noted. And this was true. The night before Walburga had been too upset to make more than the passive comment about Johanna's ancestry. Today though, she seemed rather keen on hanging around.

In actuality, Johanna was not muggle-born (though, as correctly pointed out by Walburga, McDonnel was _not_ a wizard surname); however she had neither the patience nor desire to argue the point otherwise. Walburga was what one would call intolerant, bigoted, and prejudiced. Johanna, for instance, harbored the personal belief that Walburga's vagina was wider than her mind would ever be.

"I _am_ in very good spirits, how nice of you to notice," Walburga remarked, sinking into her own four-poster that lay a safe distance (two beds) away from Johanna's own. "Dear Atticus just apologized about yesterday, said it was a gross and terribly misfortunate understanding between the two of us."

Ah yes, _Dear Atticus_ , the current subject of Walburga's affections. Potential suitor. Pretentious Prick. And most importantly, a Malfoy.

From what Johanna had heard (for she still had yet to meet him), they'd be a perfect match. Both dealt in the same currency: blood and galleons.

Johanna returned her attention to the notebook she was writing in, although she was tactful enough to keep up the conversation. "What sort of misunderstanding?"

"Apparently my silly owl was delivering the letters to the wrong address. And _his_ family owl had an injured wing, so poor Hermes was in no condition to be delivering or receiving letters, much less packages," Walburga explained. "But he made it up today by giving me this _gorgeous_ brooch; which, can you believe it, is family heirloom!"

"Wow, he's practically proposing," Johanna remarked, not bothering to spare Walburga a glance.

"Who's practically proposing?" A third voice, belonging to none other than Eleanor Burke chimed in.

"Malfoy," Johanna stated, and if she would've looked up she would've seen Walburga turn positively pink.

"You have to promise not to tell anyone!" Walburga blurted. "I wouldn't want anything to be spread around."

Eleanor, a squat girl whose primary source of nutrition was found in various forms of pork, made a noise somewhere between a snort and a piggy little squeal. "You know I would never tell a soul."

Walburga did not know, nor did she believe what Eleanor had said. But she let it go. She was all civility and decorum, manners and face. Lies.

Not that Johanna was much better at the moment.

Johanna decided to escape to somewhere quieter to work on her 'planning' and History of Magic homework, naturally.

The common room had mostly cleared by eleven-o-clock. The only remaining stragglers were a few sixth and seventh years, still catching up with one another after the months spent apart. Johanna settled herself into one of the plush chairs that sat near a fireplace.

The Slytherin dormitories were, as many already know, in the Hogwarts dungeons. Many people believe that this is because all Slytherins are inherently evil and belong in a place where evil acts, such as torture, take place. This belief is unfounded. The true reason that Slytherin House makes it home in the dungeon is because it is the largest area Salazar could find available – complete with towering ceilings and gaping windows.

You'll find that the space is something valued by Slytherins as a whole.

The common room has two levels, the upper floor home to the only aboveground windows existent within the dungeon. Underneath almost every window lies a plant, positioned to receive optimal sunlight. Generally populated by flowers, but also filled with the occasional herb. Vases and pots overflowed with the creamy blossoms of asphodel and pepperup pink belladonna. Planters bloomed with amaranth shades of hellebore. Sprigs of aconite and pots of daisies twirled around the walls. Basins spilled over with the vermillion blossoms of the valerian plant.

These were the children of the potions master, and Horace Slughorn obtaining enough ingredients for seven years of students took more than just a few greenhouses.

What space windows and flowers don't cover, bookshelves did – great, towering shelves that stretched up the expanse of the wall. Shelves filled with fiction and nonfiction and textbooks and manuals and journals and handbooks and essays and anything any student could've hoped to find (many with a racial or prejudiced twist).

A large portrait of Salazar Slytherin himself hung over the landing between the two levels. On this particular painting, he donned a poorly drawn and painfully graphitied moustache, a long-maintained, bespoke Slytherin tradition that served as a way to break in the new school year. It would be gone by the morrow. Even house-elves, the creatures undoubtedly abused by the man, had no intention of defaming the man's portrait.

The entire lower level of the Slytherin common room was submerged underneath the surface of the lake, and large windows, spelled to insulate against the frigid temperature of the water, covered the walls. Because of this, the light that filtered in typically maintained a mildly green tint. However in no way was the entire room turned green as a result of a few windows. In fact, the only green distinctly visible in the common room was that of the drapes that hung in various places on the walls or the furniture that decorated the area.

There were two fireplaces located on the lower level of the commons, made of white marble and granite, and complete with a formidable mantle. Just above each mantle hung a framed copy of the Slytherin house rules, and as far as Johanna knew, none of these rules had been bothered to be altered since the 18th century.

An assortment of black and green couches and the occasional armchair or two were strategically placed throughout the common. Lovingly worn, hand woven rugs decorated the floor. Impressive tapestries hung in various positions along the wall, each one depicting the valiant acts of some Slytherin hero or another. Johanna's favorite was the one to the left of the girl's dormitories that illustrated Merlin and the Lady of the Lake in almost painstaking detail.

However the most impressive feature and undoubtedly one of the best-kept secrets of Slytherin house was the Room of Glass.

Constructed in the mid 19th century (so still fairly recent in Johanna's new time), the Room of Glass was originally proposed by celebrated Hogwarts Headmaster Everard Rowle, a Slytherin himself. He knew of the merfolk living within the lake at this time and found it as both an opportunity for diplomacy between wizard and merkind, as well as a chance to further pursue aquatic magical studies.

As the name would suggest, the walls, ceiling, and floor were all constructed with a magically fortified and structurally strengthened variety of two-way glass. The room was rather small in comparison to the size of the common room, however, there was still enough space to fit in multiple couches, as well as several armchairs, and a couple of tables.

Throughout the course of the day, the giant squid would make several loops around the dungeon, and pay particular attention the Room of Glass. Many aquatic species (both foe and friend alike) would visit throughout the day. However, of all the visitors, the merfolk had to be the most enjoyable. In Johanna's original school years, many of the Slytherin students would communicate through a form of sign language, though Johanna had never gone too far out of her way to talk with the creatures and had poor memory of the sign language she had learnt. She also doubted that it would work in this time period. Dumbledore seemed to be part of the reason that merfolk and wizardkind were on such good terms in the first place.

And aside from that, her close friend Elizabeth had once told her a terrible story about the horrific dating advice that the merfolk tended to give (they were lovers of romance and drama, after all).

So she decided to stay in the common room, in front of the familiar fireplace while she did her work. She didn't like the trapped feeling the Room of Glass gave her anyway; like she was a fish in a fishbowl, or some zoo animal to be observed by the outside world.

Someone at the other end of the common room coughed.

Johanna started, the notebook in her hands abruptly falling to the ground. The stranger glanced at her for a moment before returning his gaze to the papers sprawled out in front of him. Johanna snatched up her book.

In the present, her plan wasn't devised of stages; it consisted of notes. At the top of the first page, written under the scrawling words 'To Do:' was a rather heavy heading; _Kill Voldemort_. A list was jotted down beneath, a scattered series of thoughts and musings that she'd spent the night gathering together.

Slughorn

Quidditch

Cronies

o Lestrange

o Malfoy?

o Avery?

o Walburga?

A note was scratched underneath the names: _ask Alphard._

Of course, Johanna had yet to have the chance to speak with Alphard in regards to Voldemort's gang (which she knew existed, although she didn't know who exactly was involved). She planned on doing it within the following weeks after she got to know him a bit better.

The gang was, what Johanna considered, one of the more serious problems. Perhaps as serious as young Voldemort himself. And she knew that simply killing Riddle wouldn't solve all of her, and future wizards, problems (although it would take care of many). He'd already planted the seeds for a movement, and more likely than not, the reign of the death eaters was going to happen. The evil and the potential were both there, and if not expressed through Voldemort's acts of tyranny, it would be expressed through someone else. Most likely someone from Riddle's own gang.

Unless, of course, she were able to turn them against him.

It wouldn't be hard. All she'd need to do is gain their trust. That was where Slughorn came in. If she could just secure herself an invitation to the slug club, then she wouldn't have to go through Voldemort to get at his friends.

The details were still being worked out as she went along, but it wouldn't be hard to coerce the boys into betrayal. They'd follow whoever they saw more powerful, and with a little bit of manipulation, a convincing speech, and a well-placed confundus charm, Johanna doubted she would have any problem winning their loyalty (at least for a short period of time). And once they learnt of Voldemort's death, they would have no choice but to follow her lead.

Lead them she would. Directly into a world free of war and prejudice. A world stripped of bigotry directed at muggleborns and non-wizard, part-humans. A world without a corrupt Ministry. A world where children would never hear the word mudblood.

Or she'd at least give them a strong shove in the right direction. Offering to _lead_ them did sound a bit cliché, and not to mention ironic…

She'd work out the more troublesome details later. For now, she'd need to focus on the task at hand.

Quidditch.


	7. Chapter 7

"Waff fat?"

Johanna raised an eyebrow at Alphard, who was currently trying to speak through a sizeable mouthful of blueberry muffin.

"What?" She asked.

Alphard tried again, "I sehd _woffs hat_."

Johanna laughed as he motioned to the slip of paper lying underneath her bowl of porridge.

"Honestly, Alphard, could you at least try not to speak with your mouth open?" Hera chided. Of course reprimand bounced off of Alphard as if he was a trampoline.

Johanna extended the paper out to Alphard, who swallowed and wiped his fingers on his robes before snatching it up from her.

Almost immediately he blurted, " _You're_ going out for Quidditch?"

Rosaline seemed just as surprised.

"Really?" She exclaimed.

"Yes I _am_ going out for Quidditch," Johanna replied, pausing to take a frustrated sip of orange juice, "Why is that so shocking?"

"We haven't had a girl on the Quidditch team in _ages_. Ages, Johanna."

Johanna raised her brow, "And?"

"And the guys currently on the team aren't going to want to change things anytime soon," Alphard conceded. "Really, I would love for you to be-"

"Personally, I'd love to see her make the team." Rosaline remarked, a thoughtful expression playing across her soft features as she glanced over Alphard's shoulder at the flyer he held. "Someone needs to put them in their place."

"Good point, Rose," Johanna remarked, earning a smile from the woman she'd addressed."

Alphard grabbed another muffin with his stray hand, "I'm not saying that she shouldn't try out. I was just giving her a heads up so she'd at least know what she was getting herself into."

Johanna flashed him a smirk.

"I'm afraid I won't be in need of a heads up, Alphie. Anything those boys can do, I can do better," she announced, snatching the paper from his hands. "Now if you'll excuse me; I don't want to be late to charms."

Rose waved at her receding figure. Alphard scowled. No one in the Great Hall noticed.

Johanna was at the Charms classroom within a matter of minutes, twenty minutes, in fact, before she'd need to be there. But she'd made a magnificent exit in the Great Hall, and it wasn't like she had any plans of going back to spoil it. With a great sigh she entered the vacant classroom, throwing her things atop a desk and leaning against the furniture.

It was somewhat harrowing to be in the classroom alone, especially for so long. The only sound being that of her own thoughts, and the magical clock that hung on the wall – and

And someone _shouting_.

Johanna's head popped out of the classroom.

She had heard correctly then, distorted voices echoed from somewhere adjacent to the hall she stood in. The noise rose in volume as it went on, and Johanna imagined that whoever was speaking was getting louder and louder. If she could only get a little closer then maybe…

No. She shouldn't. It was probably just a ghost anyway. Maybe a Hogwarts couple getting into a fight somewhere they considered private.

But a part of her, a very large part, demanded that she at least investigate a bit. It couldn't hurt could it? And besides if they'd wanted to keep her out they surely would've been smart enough to place and imperturbable charm on the door?

She headed straight for the sound.

Johanna had to turn left first, then right, until she reached the stretch of hallway that housed the room the voices were coming from. She pressed herself beside the adjacent wall, mere metres away from the cracked door that contained the speakers.

A defensive voice, low and distinctly male, met her ear first, "I'm sorry, alright?"

"Oh thank _Merlin_ you're feeling apologetic over this, because you know for a second there I was worried that you might actually be _content_ with inconveniencing me." A second voice snapped; the tone bitter and cold. Very familiar. Johanna threw up a shield charm on a whim. She was curious, but she wasn't stupid.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to get your hands on Bottled Nundu Breath?" The first boy fired back, earning a scoff from someone else in the room.

It was the second boy; he spoke again, "It can't be any harder than acquiring some unicorn blood." He paused, "In fact, everything on the list I gave you shouldn't have been _that_ hard to acquire. Yet I've still not to see any of it. Perhaps you're losing your touch, _Flora_."

There was a release of mirthless laughter that Johanna assumed came from the 'Flora' in question, for he spoke once more.

"Right then, you're just going to have to find someone else to get you that Nundu Breath. I'm done listening to you bitch when you know nothing of the market's current state. In case you hadn't noticed, we're going through a _depression_ now. Grindelwald's got all the wizards bringing the goods to him. Maybe you should ask him."

"Was that a _threat_?" asked the second voice, the tone deathly soft. "Were you threatening me, Florence?"

He was met by silence.

"That's what I thought." He announced. "Because you see, Florence, I have a way of getting what I want. And I _always_ get what I want. Understand?"

"Whatever you say, _Voldemort_." Florence snarled, spitting out the other boy's name in disgust.

Johanna almost let out a yelp of surprise.

Even more shocking were the footsteps that sounded out against the stone floor, moving towards the door – moving towards her.

"Muffliato," she hissed, waving her wand in the direction of the room and its inhabitants before taking off down the corridor.

She was in the charms classroom, seated amongst several other students who had already arrived, just seconds before Voldemort arrived along with another wave of students. Riddle himself looked healthily suspicious, and Johanna immediately began to wonder if he'd seen her.

No, he couldn't have. His body language was all wrong. He would've looked to her first, and the young Voldemort would've certainly had his anger and attention fixed on her. Instead he kept glancing around the room, as if concerned that someone had overheard their conversation.

The concern was well-merited, of course, because someone had.

His eyes landed on her.

Johanna smirked.

And for a small, fraction of a moment something seemed to dawn over him. Until his eyes were turning to the next spot in the room and other students slinked into the room.

* * *

At promptly 4 o'clock p.m., bedecked in her Quidditch robes, and with two galleons and a broomstick in her hands, Johanna McDonnel arrived at the Slytherin tryouts for the 1944-1945 team. It was a bit ironic, considering that thirty-some-odd years later, a much younger version herself would be taking her first steps out on the pitch.

Johanna found it best not to think about these things.

She paid the fee, the mere two galleons, to a first year hopeful that sat at the eastern entrance to the pitch. He smiled nervously at her, "They're in the locker room, Miss. The captain wanted to talk to the potential team before tryouts."

She nodded and strode off, arriving at the locker room within a matter of well-trodden seconds. The door smiled at her, welcoming her home with open arms. Johanna pushed it open.

Already assembled within the room were fourteen strapping young gentlemen, bedecked in shades of green, silver, and black, and all bearing a similar expression of surprise. She was disappointed to find that she was, in fact, the only female.

She was even more disappointed to discover that one of the strapping young gentlemen was the young Voldemort himself.

Quidditch was supposed to be a way for her to get close to his colleagues, not _him._ She hadn't even thought that he played Quidditch. He was the Head Boy for Merlin's sake. The Head Boy was bookish and pretentious and had no business being out on the Quidditch pitch, and yet here he was.

And then he was speaking.

"Are you here to try out for Quidditch?" He inquired.

She gave him a single, brisk nod. "Yes."

Riddle's mouth turned down at the corners, although something still remained alit inside his eyes. He observed her a silent moment before saying, "You're late."

Johanna was taken aback by his contemptuous tone.

"Excuse me?"

"I said you're late. You've already missed most of the chat I've been giving the boys about our team this year, and now it seems to me as though you're taking up some of our valuable time for try-outs," He remarked. "Please, do sit."

She sat, fumingly so.

"Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Riddle continued, and Johanna met his eyes, noticing how they laughed at her. She clenched her fists and tried her hardest to still her features. It probably wasn't working, judging by how the amusement began to grow. "Our motto this year, lads, is two percent."

It took her longer than it should've, but it dawned over Johanna in that moment.

 _Riddle was the Captain._

She wanted to wring his filthy neck.

"What do ya' mean two percent?" asked a smaller boy.

"Well, Orion, if we work two percent harder every day than we did the day before, then we're bound to be outstanding by the end of the year. If we perform just two percent better than the other teams, we're scoring two percent more points, and in turn winning the house cup before they could've thought of winning it themselves," Riddle announced. "Because it's not about improving dramatically within one practice, as the other teams seem to think. It's about improving with time, because it takes patience, determination, and discipline to get better at something. You've got to be willing to work for what you want to win. And those not willing to work or comply with the standards presented here today, will of course be removed from the team. Now, anymore questions before we start warming up?"

There were no more questions.

The Captain led his potential players to the pitch, and after a couple minutes of stretching everyone was prepared to begin.

"We have enough players to scrimmage, so I'd like to try that first," Riddle announced after surveying the hopefuls before him. "Lestrange and Malfoy are captains. Pick your teams and we'll begin."

The Nott twins were snatched up first, one on each team. Garrow, Macmillan, and Prewett were next. Five others Johanna had never seen before. Then Orion Black. Last was Ignatius Yaxley, a rather peaky second year.

Johanna was not picked.

Her temper spiked as the two teams mounted their broomsticks and shot into the air.

"Over here, McDonnel. We wouldn't want you getting hit with a stray bludger, now would we?"

Johanna turned to stare at the man who'd spoken, Toerag Riddle. He was smiling at her, his teeth a dazzling white, but the smile did not reach his eyes. It was obvious enough that he was mocking her.

She returned his smile and walked to him, "Of course not."

He glanced at her once before returning his gaze to the pitch. Riddle grasped the whistle that hung round his neck and pressed it to his lips, blowing out a breath of air and starting the match. Malfoy rushed forward with the quaffle, passing it to a nearby chaser.

"I must admit; I'm quite surprised you showed up to try-outs," Riddle mused. "You must know we haven't had a woman on our team in oh… thirty years?"

Johanna bit back a laugh and said, "Well I doubt you ever will if you don't even let me try out."

Out of the corner of her eye she could see him quirk a brow.

"I can't help that my boys didn't chose you first."

"They didn't choose me at all," she retorted.

A laughing expression played across Riddle's features. "What, would you rather me encourage them to pity you? Pause the match and chide them for not being _fair_?"

"I would rather you not treat me like a child, thank you," Johanna snapped. Riddle scoffed.

"Then stop acting like one."

 _Why that absolute piece of-_

Johanna clenched her fists and inhaled sharply. Riddle turned his attention to her, his eyes flashing – daring her to say something.

She didn't say a word. If Johanna would've voiced a single one of her thoughts; she knew without a doubt that any chances of her securing a position on the Slytherin team would've been ruined.

So she simply met his gaze, her grey eyes smoldering like ash and clashing brilliantly with the wicked sea-green of his own.

He grinned.

A piercing cry echoed through her ears, and Johanna didn't realize that the whistle was between Riddle's teeth before he was striding out onto the field, halting the game. The players fixed him with confused stares. Apparently Lestrange's team had been about to score a goal.

"Malfoy, McDonnel here is subbing in for you," Riddle called. "Apparently she thinks she's capable of captaining your team."

Oh how Johanna would've _loved_ to shove her broomstick up his smug ass.

She didn't, of course, but the thought was able to calm her a bit.

"You think you can captain a team?" Malfoy blurted, dismounting beside Riddle on the thick pelt of grass.

"That's what she told me," Riddle added, knowing very well that Johanna had said nothing of the sort.

Malfoy released a humourless laugh.

"Please, she's just some dumb bitch," He sneered. "I doubt she can even fly a broom properly."

Johanna could feel the blood boiling beneath her skin. This great-grand-prick of Draco Malfoy had just earned himself the number two spot on Johanna McDonnel's hit list.

"Go fuck yourself, buddy," She snarled.

She was flying above his head before he could say another word, so of course Johanna missed the astonished look of the boys on the ground and creative string of insults that sprung forth from Malfoy's mouth. Instead she was focused on the rather confused group of Slytherin that hovered several stories above the ground.

Nott and Macmillan were the only ones that looked genuinely annoyed to see her there. She ignored it.

"What's the plan then, Captain?" A rather contemptuous, prepubescent snotrag of a boy asked.

"The plan is to win, obviously," Johanna replied. "We strike where they're weakest. So tell me, where do you think they're weakest at?"

"Their beaters," said the first of the Nott twins, though Johanna didn't know either of their names. "They've got terrible defence."

Johanna offered him a psuedosmile, "Correct. Their beaters are inexperienced. Lestrange is relying on his offense to win the scrimmage. That's why we have to strike even harder in the offensive area. Lestrange, you, me, and… who's the other Chaser?"

"Johnson."

"Right, you, me, and Johnson will be utilizing the Woollongong Shimmy and weaving in and out of Lestrange's own Chasers," Johanna announced. "Their defence is weak, and I expect that if we use a strong enough offence none of them will be able to react in time to stop our advance."

"Shouldn't we use a hawkshead formation then?" asked Macmillan. Johanna shook her head.

"No," She stated. "The hawkshead is intimidating, but it's not effective, at least not in this case. We need to divide and conquer, and by weaving we'll be able to split them apart and dive in." She paused, observing the young men before her. "That is if you can perform the Woollongong Shimmy. If you can't then obviously we'll have to-"

"Of course we can," Nott interrupted.

Johanna knit her brows together and spoke, "What about the Porskoff Ploy?"

"We can, but I don't think it'd be the wisest. Timing is key, and none of us have practiced together long enough for it to work properly."

"Good point," Johanna conceded. "Then we'll just have to reverse pass the quaffle a couple of times. It shouldn't be terribly hard."

"And what of the beaters?" Macmillan inquired.

"We're counting on you to fend off Lestrange's team as much as you can," Johanna ordered. "They've got a mean offence though, so it won't be easy."

"I like a challenge."

Johanna considered him for a moment. "Perhaps you should double beat?" She offered. He nodded.

"We might."

And then Macmillan was off, taking with him a younger beater.

"Right then," Nott said, "let's win this so I don't have to listen to Lestrange gloat later."

Johanna's team dispersed, and within a minute Riddle had blown the whistle from below.

Her team sprang into action.

After approximately twenty-five minutes and thirty-seven seconds the golden snitch was caught by Sebastian Prewett of Albert Lestrange's team.

Johanna and her team still won.

Johanna herself had scored one hundred and ten points, bested only by the one hundred and twenty that Lestrange himself had managed to score. And that wasn't even counting the multiple sloth rolls she'd managed to perform (or the seven fouls Riddle had gone out of his way to give her).

As for Florence Nott (who Johanna couldn't distinguish from his twin Kenneth); he was so happy he could've kissed her.

He settled on giving her a rather hearty celebratory slap on the back, which she returned with an even heartier smile.

Aside from Johanna's team, though, no one else seemed to be celebrating. In fact, their Captain actually seemed a bit miffed.

Naturally she beamed at him too. Her eyes danced with unspoken thoughts, unsounded glory.

 _'Throw me to the wolves_ ,' she thought, ' _and I'll come back leading the pack_.'


	8. Chapter 8

By the time she'd returned to the commons and showered, the Slytherin dungeons were completely empty. Johanna checked the clock – 6:35. Everyone must've been in the Great Hall for supper.

Johanna grinned to herself and moved to her first order of business.

In a swift motion she unlocked the nightstand beside her bed and pulled out an unassuming brown purse from the clutter that littered the drawer, the same bag that she'd brought with her from the future. It was small by design, but Johanna had seen it fit to place an undetectable extension charm upon the purse, and it now carried an assortment of books, letters, pictures, and other things from her past (or should it be called her future?). Also contained within the satchel were a variety of things she thought might come in handy for the task at hand.

First she withdrew a book. It was small and blue, with an embossed front depicting a tree, and a heavy clasp along its side. Personally Johanna thought it screamed diary, and that was part of the reason that she'd chosen it. Inside of the book itself was an assortment of prewritten and completely false entries dating up until the end of her second week at Hogwarts, 1944. She placed a weak locking spell on the clasp and shoved it under her mattress.

The second object she withdrew was another book, this one much less attractive than the one before it. This second book held within it several months' worth of diary entries, all false, and all alluding to the other, more secretive book she hid under her bed. Johanna tossed this one into the drawer of her nightstand; not bothering to apply any sort of concealment spells. She'd alter any entries if need be, though she doubted she'd need to in the first place. It spoke mostly of her home and how much she missed her parents. It was the first diary she'd need to worry about in the long run.

Johanna had done something similar during her formative years at Hogwarts, when she'd actually kept a diary. The girls (and occasionally a few curious boys) were quick to search for, and even quicker to find journals kept by their peers. The idea was simple. Keep a decoy, and make it seem somewhat believable. The real diary (or in this case, the other decoy) would be hidden elsewhere, with a charm cast upon it to make it more of a challenge to open.

Johanna also knew that anyone who found it worth their time to search for a diary in the first place would soon realize that it wouldn't be so easy to find the first one. She hoped that they would continue to search until they found the second book – they being one of the death eaters, or perhaps even Voldemort himself. Oh the thought of using it to manipulate and mislead them…

Her grin broadened and she moved to withdraw one last object from her bag – a pen.

She shoved the pen up the sleeve of her robes, along with her wand, and marched off in the direction of the boy's dormitories. There was one last job she needed to accomplish.

With a quick glance around the commons, and an even quicker sweep of the passage to the boy's dorms, she arrived at a stone arch. The words '7th year boys' hung above her head. Johanna advanced up the flight of stairs.

The founders had been smart enough to enchant the stairs of the girls' dormitories to keep any mischievous boys out. They, however, hadn't been smart enough to enchant the stairs of the boys' dormitories in the same way. The joke was on them.

Johanna laughed as she entered the octagonal room.

There were six beds, five of them with trunks at the end and objects sitting on the nightstands. Johanna assumed that the sixth had been Riddle's at some point or another. Two of the beds were made neatly (aside from the uninhabited sixth), and the other three were rather messy, with haphazard, crumpled sheets lying across the mattress. Johanna decided to try there.

She opened the first of the three nightstands, and was met by a picture of Alphard smiling beside a rather shy looking female. Johanna raised her brows. She didn't recognize the woman, though she did recognize that the girl was dressed in painfully normal clothing in comparison to Alphard. And in another surprising twist, Johanna realized that the picture wasn't moving. It had been taken by a regular film camera. The woman had to be a muggle. Johanna returned the image to its drawer and shut it.

The second of the three nightstands housed a book on Quidditch, as well as several self-help guides ( _The Magic of Mingling: A Guide to Socializing and Being Assertive by Quirrious Quinten_ ).

No that was definitely not it.

She opened the third nightstand, and was delighted to find a crumpled assortment of papers. And after a few moments of digging through the pile, she recovered a small scrap of expensive parchment, with jagged edges and rushed lettering. Johanna unfolded it, and her mouth curled into a smile.

It was the list she'd overheard Riddle and Florence discussing earlier. Bottled Nundu Breath was even written at the bottom.

She withdrew the pen from her sleeve and immediately began writing. All seven items from the list were written across her palm within seconds. Johanna refolded the note, and returned it to the drawer. She'd just stepped away from the nightstand when a figure appeared in the doorway.

Johanna felt a scream bubble up in her throat.

The figure also seemed surprised, though his suspicion clearly overruled any shock he was feeling at the moment.

"What are you doing in here?" Florence Nott demanded, his features clearly cross as he glared at her. Johanna conjured up an apologetic smile almost as quickly as she'd lost her composure.

"I was looking for Alphard, actually," She lied.

"Really?" Florence snapped, his voice laced with distrust, "He's in the Great Hall, along with everyone else in our house."

"Well obviously I know that," Johanna said with a forced laugh that she hoped sounded more convincing than it felt. "But I promised to help him with his Charms homework, and I thought that if I could grab it now then I'd be able to discuss it with him over supper."

"Wait..." Florence said, and Johanna couldn't help but notice how much lighter his tone seemed to be, "You want to do homework at _dinner_?"

Johanna nodded, thankful that his voice had dropped most of the distrust in trade for confusion. "I thought it'd be more convenient, seeing as I have quite a bit of homework of my own tonight, which I haven't had the chance to start yet because of Quidditch tryouts."

"Right then…" Florence muttered, "Well, good luck with that."

"Thank you."

She made sure that her fist was closed tight as she brushed past him and out of the room. She was almost down the stairs of the dormitory before a voice called out behind her.

"Wait, you forgot the homework!"

She spun around, and Florence stood a few steps above her, charms papers in hand.

Johanna released a hollow laugh.

"Oh. How silly of me."

Florence bounded down the stairs to her side, extending the pieces of parchment with a casual smile. She plucked it from his hands, wrapping her ink covered hand around a piece.

"Actually, I was just about to head down to the Great Hall myself," Florence announced, "Mind if I join you?"

Johanna tried to mask sudden jolt of fear that rippled through her spine.

"Of course," she said, offering up a smile to her companion.

Johanna descended the stairs, and Florence fell into step beside her.

"McDonnel, was it?"

She glanced at him. "Johanna is fine. And you're…?"

"Florence Nott," he replied. "And I must admit, you did brilliantly at tryouts today," He added, smirking at her. "I don't think I've ever seen Malfoy that angry in his life. What did you say to him? After you flew towards us it looked like he was about to explode."

"I told him, in no uncertain terms, to politely go fuck himself," Johanna replied, her tone tart as she spoke.

"You what?!"

"He called me, and I quote, 'a dumb bitch', so I did the only logical thing I could and told him off." Johanna retorted, trying to calm her erratic heartbeat. She squeezed her fist even tighter.

They exited the commons and began to ascend to the main level of Hogwarts.

Florence seemed miffed. "Why the hell would he say something like that?"

"Well, probably because he's a masochistic idiot with an ego problem," Johanna observed. "Although that's just a guess."

"You've known him for less than a week and you've already gotten his personality down to a T," Florence mused. "I'm quite impressed."

"I'm just good at reading people," Johanna conceded. Though, the truth was that she'd met his great-grandson. The prick trait seemed to run in the family.

Florence examined her for a moment as they turned down a corridor.

"Alright then, Johanna," he said, "tell me what you read from me."

She cast him a skeptical glance and realized that he was, in fact, serious.

"Hmm… let me think…" She trailed off, vaguely recalling one of his descendants, a pompous Slytherin by the name of Theodore Nott. The picture just didn't seem to suit him though.

"Well?"

She swatted his arm. "I'm trying to think, give me a moment will you?" He laughed, and she stared at him a hard moment before speaking. "You love living, and you're generally a laidback person." She paused, thinking back to the conversation she'd overheard earlier that day. "But you feel trapped for some reason, and maybe, because of that, you don't trust easily."

He gaped at her, and for a moment she was worried that she'd said too much.

"Wow, you really are good," he muttered, and she released a breath she hadn't even realized she was holding.

"I know."

They arrived at the Great Hall, everyone too preoccupied with their meal to notice the two students who'd arrived late.

"Well, I'll be seeing you around then," Florence said, and Johanna nodded, flashing him a final smile.

"Yeah, see you."

She departed from his side to find Alphard and company, her hands pressed tight around the Charms homework as she went.

Florence's eyes followed her as she left, indulging in her figure as she crossed the great hall. After watching her take her seat, he turned to the opposite end of the Slytherin table, preparing to take his own place between his brother and Albert Lestrange. However, he was intercepted by none other than Tom Riddle before he could even think of sitting down.

Johanna was too preoccupied with her friend's questions about Quidditch to notice the two men slipping out of the Great Hall.

Everyone else either didn't notice or turned a blind eye.

Tom Riddle's wand was on Florence's throat the moment they were in the hallway.

"What the hell?!" Florence demanded, and with a gruff shove he threw the other boy off of him.

"What the hell indeed," Riddle replied. "I gave you direct orders; ones that I thought were rather easy to obey. Obviously I didn't take into account your unbelievably low intelligence."

Florence reeled. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I got distracted."

"You've become distracted quite a bit recently," Riddle derided, his temper sizzling. "Do tell me why."

"Well I went back to grab the book you'd lent me, just as you instructed." Florence paused. "But when I walked in there was Johanna, standing in the middle of the boys' dormitories."

"Why, exactly, would Miss McDonnel be snooping around your dormitory?" Riddle hissed.

Florence shrugged. "Said she was looking for Alphard's homework – wanted help him over dinner or something."

"And you believed this?"

"Of course," Florence replied. "What else could she have been doing?"

Riddle stiffened. "Where was she when you found her? Where exactly in the room was she located?"

"I don't see how that's –"

"Where was she, Florence?"

Florence Nott gnawed on his lip, thinking for a moment before he responded. The events were a bit muddled, but he still had the picture in his mind. Walking in, seeing the shock pour across her face before she mopped it up with a flustered smile…

"Beside my bed," He announced.

"And tell me, Florence, where do you keep the lists I've given you detailing the ingredients I'd like you to acquire?" Riddle pressed, his voice low and angry. Florence swallowed, understanding.

"In my nightstand."

"Did she have anything in her hands when you found her?" Riddle demanded, and Florence shook his head.

"I don't… I don't know. I couldn't tell. If she was hiding something then she was certainly hiding it well…" He paused, a lightbulb alighting in his head. "Although, now that you mention it, I think that she might've had something in her hand. She kept her fist closed tight the whole time."

"Damn it."

"You don't seriously think she took the list, do you?" Florence pressed. "And even if she did happen across it for some reason, why would she care?"

"I thought I saw someone listening to us earlier, through the crack in the door, but I couldn't be sure then," Riddle stated. "It could've been her. In fact, it probably was."

"But why would she _care_ if you wanted some of the ingredients on the list? What's it to her?"

Riddle raked a hand through his hair. "She could've mistaken it for something else," He offered. "Or she could know exactly what it is, and now she wishes to know why, exactly, I wish to acquire such things. I can't be certain. However, there is something that I am sure of. Miss McDonnel is hiding something. I'm sure of it." Riddle paused. "Thank you, Florence, for bringing this to my attention. Just try not to be so careless next time."

"Of course, Voldemort."

"And don't forget to return the book to me by the end of tonight. Give it to a house elf if you must. I won't be in my room until a bit later, it seems."

"What are you planning on doing?"

"My plans are none of your business, dear Florence. Now run along to dinner before someone notices your absence. I'm afraid I have more pressing matters to attend to."


	9. Chapter 9

"Miss McDonnel?"

Johanna turned her head at the polite voice, a shiver running down her spine as she locked eyes with Tom Riddle. He had a pleasant expression on his face; one so pleasant that she knew something was amiss. But why would he look so pleased? Unless…

Florence. That simpering little prick.

"Yes?" Johanna replied, her tone and expression matching his own.

"I was wondering if you'd accompany me to the hospital wing," He stated. Johanna furrowed her brow, but before she could ask any further questions, he continued. "You see, after your _spectacular_ performance on the Quidditch pitch this afternoon, I realized that you've yet to have a physical."

"A physical?" she echoed, her voice laced with an indisputable amount of derision.

"Yes a physical," Riddle said. "I realized that no one here at Hogwarts had any idea of what sort of health you were in, or if you had any ailments that had yet to be attended to. And, as someone who is greatly concerned for the health and wellbeing of my players, I wouldn't possibly be able to let you play knowing that you could, well, collapse at any moment."

He smirked.

Johanna felt her throat tighten.

"As grateful as I am for your concern," She said, an ingratiating smile gracing her features. "I'm afraid I must ask if we can do this some other time. I have quite a bit of homework, two feet two write on Bathsheba the Black, I believe. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course I understand," Riddle replied, his eyebrows softening in mock sympathy. "However, I am afraid that I'm not merely asking you to attend a physical." He paused, smiling. "And if it's your Professors that you're worried about, I'm sure that I could have a chat with them. Or you could always come to the Head's quarters later tonight and have a look at my answers. We wouldn't tell anyone, of course."

Johanna swallowed, hard. A frigid wave rolled down her spine. Her smile melted into a grimace.

"A courteous offer," She said. "Though I'm certain that I can manage on my own. And we wouldn't want to tarnish your reputation, now would we? I can only imagine what it would look like for the Head Boy to be caught encouraging cheating," she paused, "or involved in any other unsavory activities."

Johanna's threat hung by a thread above their heads. Her eyes flashed, and for a small moment she thought that she could see his smile faltering, if only by a bit.

"Please allow me to escort you to the hospital wing," He riposted, graciously extending his arm for her. Johanna took hold of it, internally screaming, externally the epitome of composure.

"Why thank you, Riddle," She replied. "It's not common to see many men so chivalrous these days."

He smirked at her, and said, "Manners are everything. Civility and Decorum takes you everywhere."

"Spoken like a true Slytherin."

"Indeed."

Their conversation ceased, and the only sound that passed between them was the echoing of their footsteps on the cold stone floor. Johanna kept her features neutral. Tom smirked.

The air crackled.

Her silence was, in Riddle's eyes, his victory. Johanna knew this. If it wasn't true he would've been making some sort of effort to speak with her, and he wouldn't have had that gloating look in his eyes.

Johanna pursed her lips.

Rule #1 of being manipulative: If ever an opportunity to get closer to your enemy presents itself, you _always_ take it.

She pulled her mouth into a simpering, saccharine smile, and turned her gaze to him.

"So you're the Captain of the Quidditch team and the Head Boy. That's quite impressive," Johanna noted. Riddle turned his face to her, quirking a brow. If anything he seemed pleased. Her smile deepened. "Tell me, is there anything you can't do?"

He chuckled, the sound ridiculously warm and completely insincere. He'd done this before, and he was good.

"I'm rubbish at baking," he stated. "A fatal flaw, I'm afraid."

"How tragic," she mused. "It would seem as though the glorious Tom Riddle is not, in fact, infallible."

Her words carried so much more meaning than her tone revealed.

Riddle seemed to notice this, and narrowed his eyes, but before she could goad a response out of him, they arrived.

"Oh look," he remarked, his lips curling ever upwards. "We're here."

He held open the door for her, ushering her forward into the hospital wing. Marjorie Selwyn stood, her hands on her hips, waiting for Johanna to arrive.

"There you are!" The mediwitch blurted. "Come along then, it won't take long, dear."

Johann brushed her hair behind her ear and followed the mediwitch behind a curtain. Several incantations were cast upon her, and an assortment of magical utensils were used to check her vitals. The mediwitch seemed rather pleased with the results, and Johanna herself was rather pleased with the process.

However she wasn't terribly pleased when the witch asked her to remove her robes.

"It'll only take a second, dear," She promised. "I just need to check the alignment of your spine."

Johanna shrugged and removed her robes. Her button-down came off next, and she curled down to touch her toes. The mediwitch observed her back, humming quietly to herself as she examined the young woman's spine. After a moment she touched a spot on Johanna's back, her hum pausing on a low note.

"What?" Johanna demanded.

"You show signs of early onset scoliosis," The witch stated. "Nothing serious, just make sure not to carry any heavy objects or strain your back too much and you'll be fine." Madam Selwyn paused, "I need to go run a few of the samples through several tests in my office. But for now you're free to go. I'll let you know if anything seems wrong."

"Thank you," Johanna said, watching the witch shuffle into her office. Johanna lifted her button down from the nearby table it had been on, slipping her arms through. She paused, however, when she realized that her robes were missing.

She peered out from behind the curtain she was concealed behind, at once noticing Riddle, his hands searching through her pockets.

Johanna laughed a mirthless, bitter laugh, and Riddle turned at once to her, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

"Find anything interesting?" Johanna inquired, fingers working her buttons. His eyes flickered to her chest, devouring her, then back to her face. She'd expected him to be flustered, instead he just matched her own smirk.

"I was just checking to see if it'd been contaminated with bulbadox powder," Tom offered, his features placating. "Apparently there's a prankster going around Slytherin house, dumping the stuff all over people's belongings. It would seem as though you haven't been plagued by the itching powder yet."

Johanna scoffed, grasping the ebony robe from his hands.

"Is that your excuse? Honestly I was expecting better, especially coming from someone as Slytherin as yourself."

Riddle stiffened, and Johanna adjusted her cuffs.

She'd changed. He'd noticed. Her expressions were no longer placating and sugar sweet, but had turned haughty and cruel. Her posture no longer mimicked his own. Her eyes no longer flitted away. Now she stood tall and proud, her shoulders pressed back and her head tilting forward. A smirk painted her lips. Her eyes glared back at him.

She thought she'd won, but he knew he had her cornered.

"Do you really wish to taunt me like that?" He challenged, another smirk tearing across his face. "What was it you said? Oh yes, that's right. 'I'm looking for Alphard'. Please. Of all the excuses I've heard that has to be one of the most pathetic."

"Who said I wasn't telling the truth?" Johanna asked, releasing another laugh. Riddle's features seemed to harden.

Johanna kept up the carefree attitude she'd conjured. It drove her mad; she hated dancing around the subject – keeping up the lies and feigns. She hated pretending. But she remained aloof because she had to.

She played his games, and she played to win.

"Let's not pretend, McDonnel," Riddle pressed. "We both know you lied to Florence. There's no reason for you to play the fool."

"The only fool here is you, I'm afraid." Johanna retorted. "Now if you'll excuse me, I still have homework to do."

She tried to walk past him, but he snatched her wrist, encircling his fingers round the bones and squeezing. Hard. Johanna tried to tug her wrist backwards, her entire body screaming at her as she did so.

"Release me," Johanna ordered. Riddle ignored her and uncurled her fist, revealing the palm of her hand.

All that remained was an indistinct black smudge.

He threw her hand away from him, his eyes ablaze as her turned to stare at her face. She conjured up a smile, one so smug and vain it rivaled even the ones Riddle wore on a day-to-day basis.

"You look disappointed," She jibed, her tone positively dripping with satirical mocking. "What? Were you expecting something else?"

His eyes were boring into hers before she even realized it was too late.

Voldemort himself was delving into her brain, trying to sift through her thoughts and latch on to something useful. Presumably he was looking to find out if she really had seen the list. But he was going to find out a hell of a lot more than he expected if he even took a peak.

Johanna inhaled sharply and shut her eyes. She vacuumed up every one of the thoughts, every feeling that existed in her mind until there was nothing left. She became a blank slate. Johanna looked at him again.

Tom Marvolo Dickhead looked as though he had just been slapped.

"You're an Occlumens?!" He exclaimed.

She wasn't a particularly great one, she'd admit, but then again neither was he. Not yet. They both still had a long way to go before either of them mastered the arcane arts of the mind.

"And you have revealed yourself as an amateur practitioner of Legilimency," She replied. "The apple of Hogwarts' eye – of all things a _Legilimens_." Johanna had known this beforehand, of course, but it still felt important to state. It was important for him to know. Maybe it would stop him from trying his mind games with her again.

Though she knew that was too much to hope for.

They both stared at each other a long, hard moment; surveying the situation. His features appeared in various shades of consternation, anger, and more than a little surprise. Her features remained blank, still drawn up in a painful attempt to not give anything away. Riddle was more than certain that she was hiding something now.

"The results came back faster than expected!" A distant voice shouted, and both wizard and witch turned their heads to stare at the figure of Madam Selwyn, a kind expression on her face as she appeared before the curtain. "You're one-hundred percent healthy."

"Well would you believe that?" Johanna breathed. "I'm healthy."

"Healthy as a hippogriff," Marjorie Selwyn gibbed, and turned to Riddle. "I expect she'll be on the team then? I can't wait to see the first female player on the Slytherin team in years. My, the last one must've been when I was still a student here."

"Yes the team…" Riddle muttered. "Of course."

"I'll be going then, thank you, Madam Selwyn." She turned to the man beside her. "And thank you, Riddle. I'm quite happy I had the opportunity to chat with you tonight. I enjoyed getting to know my Captain…" The medi-witch observed the two with raised brows, and Johanna blushed and leaned in to Riddle, playing the part of the infatuated schoolgirl. "Keep making the empty threats Riddle," she whispered. "It's cute."

And with that she left him. Riddle stared after her departing figure in outrage.


	10. Chapter 10

As a general rule of thumb, Johanna rather enjoyed all of her classes at Hogwarts. Certainly it was odd, to be taking courses that you'd taken yourself dozens of years in the future. But the subjects were familiar, the professors were enjoyable, and the learning was practical. The company was somewhat mediocre, but she supposed she'd survive without being surrounded by familiar faces.

However, there was one class that she dreaded.

Divination, taught by none other than the acclaimed Asteria Trelawney (daughter of the late Cassandra Trelawney), was absolutely dreadful. The first class she'd attended, the woman had droned on and on, telling some sob story about being rejected for such an obscure branch of magic. Several Hufflepuffs were brought to tears. Johanna tried her hardest to hide the disgust that bubbled across her face.

And then, of course, the professor had to go on and give what many students considered a shocking revelation. Johanna considered it a ridiculous assumption, meant to scare her and the other students into believing every word that Asteria Trelawney would say.

"Late in the month of December," Trelawney had said, "There will be a great unravelling of order, and a sudden resurgence of chaos."

To Johanna it all sounded like a load of doxy droppings.

And now she was back in the class again, seated next to a rather removed Walburga (staring into the crystal ball and seeing if she could make out Malfoy's face had become something of a hobby for her). Johanna was beginning to understand exactly why Hermione had loathed this class so.

"As I mentioned yesterday," Asteria crooned, "Divination is almost always misunderstood as 'predicting the future'." Johanna had no recollection of her professor saying anything of the sort. "And yes, while it certainly is meant to do that; truly successful Divination does not predict the raw future. It predicts a future based on events that are currently happening outside of a wizard's or witch's direct knowledge." She inhaled sharply. "To call it ' _fortune telling_ ' would be to blaspheme."

"McDonnel, tell me, do you see anything within this crystal ball?" Walburga whispered, her eyes fixated on the object that lay between the two of them on a squat table.

"Your abnormally large nose, maybe."

Walburga grit her teeth. "Oh how hilarious."

"I would like everyone to open their textbooks and turn to page 37 in their textbooks so that we may begin," their professor continued.

Johanna opened the sizeable book before her, _Fated Sky: A Complete Guide to Astrology, Cartomancy, Palmistry, and the Other Arts of Divination_ , and flipped to page 37. An intricate diagram of a palm stared up at her. Wonderful.

A collective groan issued up from several of the students, and Trelawney clucked at them.

"Now, now; we're just doing a review for the first month or two. Today we're covering palmistry, tomorrow we'll be reading each other's Tarot cards, and next week we'll probably be moving on to astrology or dream interpretation."

"But we do this every year," A Ravenclaw male piped up, "I thought you said we'd be getting into more advanced stuff this year."

Asteria clucked once more, "Patience, child."

The students were then directed to examine their partner's palm and report their results. Walburga read over Johanna's with surprising efficiency (her head line was curved and didn't reach the percussion of her hand, her heart line was faint and stiff, and her life line was forked rather dramatically, according to Walburga), however the results meant nothing to Johanna, who understood none of the witch's mumblings.

Johanna, however, had a rather hard time of reading Walburga's palm.

"Well this bit, I think it's your head line… yeah, the head line. It's straight and stiff, so that means you have asthma?"

Walburga snorted.

"No you idiot," She retorted. "That would mean that I'm selfish and bitter, which I'm not. The line is _obviously_ curved, see?" Walburga thrust her palm towards Johanna's face, but Johanna did not see a curve. Or at least, she thought she didn't. She was past the point of caring really.

"Do you have asthma, then?" Johanna inquired. Walburga gave a stiff nod.

"I do, actually, but it's only because the head line is so close to the heart."

Johanna knitted her brows together and peered further into the other witch's hand. "You're heart line seems rather high on your hand, or maybe I'm just looking at it wrong…"

"No, you've actually got it right this time."

"So that means you're passionate?" Johanna offered, earning a nod from her partner.

"Correct."

After another tedious examination, Johanna clicked her tongue in frustration. Walburga took notice and frowned.

"What is it? What do you see?"

Johanna glanced up at the witch, noticing the anxious expression in Walburga's eyes.

"Well you see this bit here?" Johanna began. Walburga leaned forward.

"Yes, what about it?"

"Well…" Johanna trailed off, pressing her finger on the tapered off line of Walburga's hand. "It seems to indicate that you're a total bitch."

There was a loud snort of laughter from the table adjacent to them, and Johanna's eyes landed on Florence Nott, who sat directly next to a Ravenclaw Trelawney had paired him with. It was the first time she'd seen him since her encounter with Riddle the night before. And boy did she want to punch him.

Somehow Johanna managed to contain herself, though she couldn't say the same of Walburga.

"What're you laughing at, floobag?"

"Oh nothing, Walburga. Nothing at all."

"Well than keep your ridiculous giggling to yourself, Florence," Walburga snapped. "Unlike you, someone of us are actually trying to work here."

Florence didn't say another word, and although Johanna maintained a special sort of dislike for Walburga, she had to admit that she was thankful Trelawney had paired the two of them together for class that day. Walburga Black was a pain, but an entertaining one, and she certainly knew how to put people in their place.

Perhaps Johanna would recruit her. She'd need all the help she could get, after all. And by this point Johanna was fairly certain that Walburga was not in Riddle's gang (or at least not yet), so it couldn't hurt to encourage Walburga to listen to other orders.

It would be a trial to coax Walburga into listening to someone of Johanna's blood status, but the witch was still willing to try.

Walburga would crumble. They all would.

"Are you paying attention, Miss McDonnel?"

Johanna glanced up, a polite smile on her face.

"Of course, Professor."

Trelawney gave a tart nod and proceeded to explain the mechanics of palmistry.

The class was over almost as soon as it had started, and Johanna found herself seated in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, her book in front of her, and Hera at her side.

Galatea Merrythought stood at the front of the room, her hands quivering in a remarkably gelatinous sort of way. Long ago, she'd made attempts to still the shaking by shoving her fists within the folds of her tent-like robes, but after decades of quaking she'd given up.

Johanna chewed savagely on a piece of gum as she examined her Professor. Everything about Galatea Merrythought screamed elderly – her hunched figure, the sparse forest of gray hair that sprouted from her head, the arthritis riddled joints, quivering hands. Johanna thought Galatea was afflicted with early onset Parkinson's. She'd seen it once before, in her father's mother. Tragic.

"Oh! I almost forgot, I'd like to encourage you lot to join the dueling club," Merrythought spluttered. No one attempted to inform her that she'd already told her students this twice. "We will begin meeting during the last week of October. I believe I placed the signup sheet outside of my classroom." She paused. "Now where was I? The syllabus, correct? Yes. As many of you will recall, we'll be having practical application scheduled for sixth and seventh years starting the first Friday of October, and recurring on the first Friday of every month. As for this schoolyear itself we'll be covering-"

"Professor?"

"Yes, Albert?"

"You've already gone through the syllabus. Three times."

If there was one thing to be said about Albert Lestrange, it was that he was straight and to the point. If there was another thing to be said about Albert Lestrange it was that he was a masochistic bastard. Albert bore both of these things as a compliment.

"Oh… Thank you for bringing that to my attention, Albert."

"No problem, Professor."

Galatea Merrythought proceeded to dive headfirst into a desperately boring discussion revolving around the various forms of illusination and theory of vanishing spells. Johanna haphazardly jotted down notes, serenaded by the sound of Hera's snores. It was quaint. Pleasant. She had plenty of time to peruse through her plans.

Her plans.

That's what it always came down to.


	11. Chapter 11

Things began to settle into a routine, which was something Johanna had both been hoping and dreading for. Hoping because of how much easier it was to remain undetected and pick up patterns. Dreading because of how much easier it was to lose focus and become comfortable.

Johanna also found that the more time she spent with the people around her, the fonder she became of them. Alphard, reckless as he was, became a friend and a welcome distraction. This disturbed Johanna greatly. The last thing she needed was a distraction, yet Alphard, Hera, and Rose, among others, began to pull her focus away from her job and towards their humourous antics.

Deep down Johanna had to admit that she was thankful for it. She was grateful that they could welcome her, that they could be so carefree. Deep down she hated thinking about her job, she hated thinking about Voldemort, or Riddle, or whoever the hell he was. Johanna missed when she could joke around like Alphard. She missed the days she could care as little as Hera. She missed the time when she could be as kind as Rose.

Admittedly she didn't miss those things _that_ much. Johanna had a habit of not really caring. Losing a bit of one's humanity will do that to a person.

All the same, things settled into a routine, and Johanna did as well. Classes, Quidditch, Commons, Repeat. Somewhere in between Quidditch and time spent in the common rooms, she typically found a way to do a little research. Some nights she'd schmooze all over the potential Death Eaters. Others she'd wander the hallways, searching for Riddle and following him at a distance in an attempt to memorize any routines or patterns he might have. (Those attempts typically proved unsuccessful. Riddle was prolific in the art of illusionary spells, as well as the keen sense that told him someone was tailing him.) Occasionally Johanna would spend time in the library in between or after classes, pooling over the collection of literature and resources housed there. Slughorn had been kind enough to hand her a slip condoning her inspection of the restricted section within the second week. Her interest in the various Darke potions they'd be studying throughout the semester was, 'brilliantly refreshing,' and, 'exactly what I look for in my students', according to Horace himself.

It was on one such afternoon, when Johanna found herself pouring over a rather ancient copy _of Olde and Forgotten Bewitchements and Charmes_ that she was met with rather unexpected, but not unsurprising, company.

"You certainly have interesting taste," the boy remarked, an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed as he examined her from a nearby shelf. Johanna felt revulsion bubble up in her throat at the sound of his voice, though she didn't glance up. She'd gone a week already without having direct contact with him, outside of Quidditch at least. In fact, she'd made sure to _avoid_ it. So why was he making some sort of effort to reach out to her? And more importantly, how did he know to find her here? Had he been watching her too?

Johanna glanced up at Riddle, her eyes flitting over his figure. Everything about him screamed confidence and oozed suave. His relaxed, confident stature. The arrogant half-smirk he always wore across his face. Even his eyes, which might have appeared beautiful to any onlooker, were dark with pride and greed. Johanna wanted desperately to punch him.

"Hello, Tim. Fancy seeing you here," She greeted in a sour tone rivaling that of a lemon. Riddle stiffened.

"I've noticed you hanging around the Restricted Section for the past several days, and I couldn't help but become a little curious. Tell me, _Joan_ , do you have permission to be here? It's my job as Head Boy to make sure that-"

Johanna cut him off, "You should find this sufficient." She withdrew a slip of paper from her satchel and held it out to Riddle, who examined it. "Slughorn is all too eager to hand away free passes to those he lives vicariously through." After a moment he returned the parchment, a smile on his face that so clearly did not reach his eyes.

"Well, in that case, have you tried _A Catalogue of Enchantments_ yet?" He inquired, his voice taking on a much more conversational tone. "It's far more informative and engaging than the old stack of papers that you're reading now."

"I'm afraid I haven't."

"I have a copy I could loan you, if you'd like," Riddle offered, smirking at her as Johanna glared at him. He searched her eyes. Riddle watched the thoughts roll across her face. Contained within her features alongside hesitant contemplation, was a healthy amount of self-possessed disgust, and he couldn't help but wonder what the cause could be. It was obvious that she didn't trust him; he didn't expect her to, not after his rather rash attempt to read her mind. He'd mistepped there. He'd been too aggressive and overdramatic. If he just hadn't overreacted… It wasn't like she'd be able to do anything with the list. Johanna was just another student, and a foreign and unknown one at that. If she tried to expose him for anything, it would be her word against his, and they both knew who would win.

"I'd like to borrow that book, then," Johanna announced, and with that she rose from her seat, taking the colossal book along with her. Riddle's gaze and body followed her as she returned the text to its home among the shelves, latching onto her slate grey eyes as she turned around.

He spoke quickly, making the best attempt he could at flustered consternation, "I'm sorry about what I did."

Johanna quirked a brow, examining him. What was he playing at? Was this Riddle really apologizing? And for what? The future? The thousands of lives? But how could he know?

"What did you do?" She inquired, and Riddle was slightly surprised by the sheer innocence and incredulity in her tone.

"During your physical, I was… mistaken about something," He stated. "I shouldn't have acted in such a barbaric manner."

Johanna considered him carefully before releasing an amused chuckle and lifting another book from the table. He blinked.

"You are many things, Riddle," she said, "but apologetic is not one of them."

A crack tore through the contrite demeanor he'd been wearing, and his mouth twisted in a horrific sort of grimace. Johanna stared at him, stunned by the familiarity.

Now she really could believe that this was the Voldemort of the future.

He cleared his throat, and opened his mouth to speak once more, both unsettled by her words and confused by her almost _fearful_ expression. However, the two of them were interrupted by a rather irksome intruder.

"V-"

Florence Nott barely had the time to get the 'v' sound out of his mouth before Riddle cut him off.

"Hello there, Florence, did you need something?" Riddle blurted, his eyes widening and his smile curling into something like a snarl. Johanna cut her eyes to Voldemort. This was the first time she'd truly seen him off his game.

Florence looked mortified at his slip of tongue, his eyes landing on Johanna and failing to notice the unprofessional emotion radiating off of his dark lord.

"N-no," he stammered, his fist tightening around a tome he held in his hand. Johanna cocked her head, mild interest playing across her features.

"What's that?" she inquired, motioning to the book he cradled. Florence's eyes grew larger, and his gaze darted in a panicked frenzy back and forth from Riddle to the girl that stood beside him.

Riddle was the first to step forward, and his hands tore the book from Florence's grip as he spoke. "Dear Nott here was just returning a long overdue copy of a book I loaned him."

Johanna's caught a glimpse of the tome, and she couldn't help but raise her brows as she read the title, "The Arte of the Necromane? You're joking right?"

Tom's face hardened. "Pardon?"

"Everyone knows that the only thing Necromancy is good for is creating Inferi, and Inferi are stupid and easy to kill creatures," Johanna retorted, a coy smile playing across her features. Riddle's features soured.

"And what do you know about Necromancy?"

"Probably more than you; we studied bits and pieces at Beauxbatons, after we heard that Grindelwald was attempting to form an army of the undead," Johanna lied, having no trouble with the words.

Florence released a low whistle. "He _is_?"

Johanna ignored him and pressed on, "That book is undoubtedly filled with the ramblings of a mad old wizard who sought to extend his own life by taking others." Her tone was sharp and bitter, and it was obvious that her words carried more meaning than they originally revealed. In fact, the mad old wizard she referred to stood mere feet in front of her.

There was a pregnant pause, one in which Johanna spent regretting quite a bit of what she'd said. Her last words had, in her opinion, hit a little too close to home than she would've liked. Riddle already suspected something was off about her, she could tell… And what if she'd revealed too much? Maybe he'd realize that she was bluffing, and that her experience with the subject in question didn't come from past scholarly experience. What if he tried to read her mind again?

She gnawed on her lip.

Hopefully her words would deter him from pursuing the subject of Necromancy any further. Yes. That would be quite convenient.

Riddle finally spoke, his eyes never once leaving Johanna.

"We're going to be late to potions if we continue to dawdle like this," He remarked, his features remarkably neutral.

"Oh, right," Florence agreed.

Johanna nodded her head and tightened her grip around the book in her hands, _Most Potente Potions_. Riddle turned on his heel and led them out of the library and through the snaking corridors of the hallway.

Potions commenced in its typical fashion, and the class was over before Johanna realized what had happened. She was left with scattered notes on the Doppelgänger's Draught, and an even more scattered brain.

Her fractured musings were interrupted when a bumbling Professor approached her, his portly cheeks decorated by a rosy flush.

"Johanna?" Horace Slughorn prompted, and she turned to him with a discerning eye.

"Yes Professor?"

"As you must know, I've been quite impressed with your work in this class," He began. "You've exceeded all expectations I originally had for you, and not only have you managed to flesh out a place for yourself at the top of my class, you've managed to fit yourself in comfortably with the students and staff of Hogwarts. I cannot say the same of many transfer students I've taught before." Slughorn hesitated slightly, and Johanna couldn't hide the soft blush that crept onto her face. She was flattered, even if she wasn't surprised. "You possess remarkable talent, paired with exceptional curiosity, and an outstanding talent for intellectual debate. It is rare to see another student capable of keeping up with the likes of Tom or Atticus – don't tell the boys I said that, of course," He chuckled. "You see, I have something of a league of the most talented witches and wizards here at Hogwarts. The students have taken to calling it the 'Slug Club' (though I must admit I detest the name). I would love for you to attend one of our meetings. Our first of the year takes place this Friday. I think it'd be good for you. You'd get to meet more of your talented peers, and forge relationships with them. I really think it serves to open up-"

"I would love to attend, Professor." Johanna chimed in, cutting Horace off with a good-natured smile.

"Oh yes, of course."

Johanna scooped up her bag. "I'll see you later then."

She was out the door before Slughorn could bid her goodbye.


End file.
